


Pizza Man

by Ill_write_it, Iron_Mage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugs, Gangs, Gay Sex, Gunplay, Gunshot, Inspired by Karla, M/M, Mind Fuck, Murder, Posion, Sorry Dean-o, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Whipping, criminal!cas, gun - Freeform, i'm a bad person, kidnap, non consensual blow job, non consensual sex, shower, sort of russian, the bunker, yes i watched it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 36,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ill_write_it/pseuds/Ill_write_it, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Mage/pseuds/Iron_Mage
Summary: Dean Winchester was given the job of delivering a pizza to the exquisite home of notorious local serial killer and crime lord, Castiel. Unfortunately...Dean wasn't aware of that, as he's new in town. And so, when he stops for a candy bar and a smoke he gives very little thought to the psychopath simmering in the dining hall of the address glaring at him on the order receipt.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was bored.  He pulled up the obnoxiously painted car at the gas station, his fingers itching for a cigarette to hold. He didn't much care for the customer's cooling pizza and he doubted that the pizza place he worked for would mind. He stepped out of the car and filled her up, a beat-up Vauxhall from the 1980s.  Not exactly glamorous, but it was all he could afford now that he was paying for his little brother's, Sam's, school fees. He headed over to the station.  He bought himself a candy bar and payed for his gas.  On the way out, he grabbed a smoke from his back pocket and went to enjoy it behind the garage, sheltered from the spring breeze. He sighed contentedly as he took a long drag on his smoke. He really should give up, for Sammy's sake. But this was a rare luxury and Dean really really needed it. He took another long inhale and enjoyed the familiar taste of tobacco. The cigarette was finished all too soon as Dean headed back to his car, decorated with the pizza company logo and number. He was miserable, and the nicotine had done nothing to fix it.

 

The winding road appeared to led to the middle of nowhere. He must be lost. "Fuck," he said simply, turning another twisting corner. And then he saw it.  A huge mansion, with tall brick walls and a huge glass window at the front in the second floor. He pulled up outside of the gates and got out, checking the address.  Yes, this was the place. What was a guy like this doing ordering pizza? Usually his customers were overweight, teens or just too lazy and tired from a hard day’s work to make food for themselves. Not this! He approached the intricately patterned iron gates and went to press the intercom, but before he could announce himself the gates were buzzed open. Not far enough for him to drive up to the door, but enough that he could squeeze his teenage frame through, muscled as he may be. He headed up to the front door, feeling some apprehensions. Was this why no one else wanted to do this delivery? Was this why he had been selected from the twenty other employees when they knew that he wasn't the most experienced or familiar with the area? He swallowed loudly and went to knock, but the door fell open with the first touch of his hand. He hovered briefly on the doorstop and then headed inside.

 

"Hello?" Dean called. "Hello? I've got your pizza."

 

He walked through the marble lobby, gazing awestruck at the stunning spiral staircase. All the doors were closed, except one. A large mahogany door was a tad ajar. He pushed it open. "Hell-"

 

"Hello Dean," a deep voice said calmly from the other side of the room. It was a dining room, with a long dark wood table and a huge window at the back which currently had sheen curtains drawn across it. It outlined the speaker in angelic white light. "You're late," he said quietly, sitting at the head of the table and drumming his fingers on the table next to a brown file folder.

 

"Sorry, what?" Dean jumped out of his dream state and moved to put the pizza on the table. The man stopped drumming. Dean pulled the pizza closer to himself and the man hidden by the shadows began again.

 

"You heard me," he said, in his smoky voice.

 

"Well…" Dean ran his free hand through the back of his hair. "The, um... Traffic was hell."

"No, it wasn't. Don't lie," the man said calmly. His serene demeanor was quite unnerving.

 

"Um..." Dean was getting a little nervous.

 

The man paused and then opened the file and slid it across the table to Dean. Dean looked at it, caught like a rabbit in headlights. There he was, a cctv camera shot of him at least, climbing out of his Vauxhall, buying a candy bar. Leisurely smoking a cigarette.

 

"Do you know how long it takes to drive from the pizzeria to here, Dean?"

 

"Uh…" Dean scratched his head.  "No?"

 

The man paused, and sighed. "Fifteen minutes. Fifteen god damn minutes, Dean!" He spoke calmly at first and then his voice gained strength.

 

Dean winced at its harshness. "I'm really sorry sir. It won't happen again."

 

"Hmm." The man smiled.

 

"I think I'm going to go now..." Dean said nervously, placing the box on the table and patting it with his hand.

 

"I don't think so, Dean." The man stood and walked towards him.  He had dark hair and pale skin, and startlingly blue eyes. He was smirking. "Now, usually I'd have killed you by now. But…"

 

"What?!" Dean backed away, his hand reaching for the door.

 

"Dean," the man warned.

 

"Who are you? Scratch that. I don't want to know. I'm getting out of here! Enjoy your pizza. Don't worry about the money." He turned and headed for the door.

 

"Dean, Dean, Dean!"  He smirked, produced a gun from somewhere – where had that come from? - and casually loaded it. "You're not going anywhere, except the morgue. Unless you stop moving?" He gestured with the gun.

 

"Woah! Dude!" Dean was terrified.

 

"Excuse me?" the man asked, a little perturbed at his loss of title.

 

"Dude! Geeze! Don't shoot the freaking messenger!" Dean said, raising his hands and stepping away from the door to face the blue-eyed psychopath.

 

The man chuckled. "I preferred it when you were calling me sir."

 

Dean looked a little flustered. "Uh, sorry, sir." Dean ran his hand over his chin, not moving his eyes from the gun.

 

The man weighed it in his hands a little and then placed it back in the back of his waistband. Dean swallowed nervously. "I'm a quick draw," the man warned, his smile disappearing.

 

"Okay!" Dean squeaked.

 

The man's smile had returned.  He liked the effect he was having on the teen.

 

Now that he stood in the light, Dean could see him more clearly.  He was dressed in a purple suit with smart black shirt.  It looked expensive. His messy hair and sparkling blue eyes only complimented his eccentric dress sense. Then there were the gloves, white and totally pristine. Dean felt a little underdressed in his jeans and pizzeria shirt, the logo perched insultingly on his left breast pocket.  Underdressed for what, though? He was delivering a pizza! He fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt timidly.  The man just wouldn't stop staring into his eyes, reading him and grinning manically. He looked away, avoiding the confrontation. He felt naked in this man's presence.

 

"Now, you took precisely..."  He stepped closer to his prey and checked his watch.  Dean was frozen. "Thirty-eight minutes and... twelve seconds to arrive." He placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, manhandling him over to the chair in front of him.  Then he paced up the dining room and rested his hands on a chair. "Now usually, being a crime lord and all, I'd have killed you by now. However, there's something about you, Dean, that I like. Maybe it's your pretty green eyes? Maybe it's your adorable tendency to play with your clothes when nervous? Maybe it's…"

 

"I like to think it's because of my perky nipples," Dean said sarcastically under his breath.

 

The man tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Don't interrupt."

 

Dean looked startled. How did he hear that?

 

“Anyway, a reputation's a reputation. And so…!" The man slammed his hands on the table. "You won't be leaving... Alive."

 

Dean gulped. "Geeze, I mean I'm really sorry about being late and all but... That's a bit harsh!" he said, stumbling over the words. "Please don't kill me, man, I've got... A wife!  And kids!"

 

"Really Dean? Are you sure that's the angle you're going for?"

 

Dean nodded, unsure.

 

"Hmm. You know how I feel about lying. How sure? Sure enough that you won't feel bad about the threat of punishment if that's not the case? Are you telling me the truth, Dean?" the man said, casually twiddling his pen.

 

Dean bit his lip. "No."

 

"No, what?"

 

"Uh..." Dean looked at the pizza box, searching for the name on the receipt. "No, Castiel," Dean said, nodding. "Gee, that's really a mouthful isn't it?"

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

 

"Sorry."

 

Castiel nodded, but still seemed a little annoyed that Dean hadn't called him “sir,” although he was really enjoying the sight of Dean worrying his lower lip again.

 

"You said I won't be leaving 'alive'..."

 

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Castiel said absently.

 

He was hot and then cold.  Dean just didn't get him. One minute it's “Leave and I'll kill you,” and then ten minutes later he doesn't give a fuck. Dean waited for him to continue and when he didn't, he swallowed and continued himself. "Does that mean I'm staying?"

 

Castiel grinned. "We'll see, pretty boy. You as tough as you look?"

 

Castiel revealed that the “pen” he'd been fiddling with was in fact a knife. Dean gasped in shock as Castiel dragged it across his own skin and then headed towards Dean, who was frozen in his chair. He was terrified. What kind of sick shit was this guy into? Oh god, he shouldn't have had that smoke, he shouldn't have taken this delivery, he shouldn't have taken the job, he should have tried harder at school...

 

Crap. Castiel was getting closer. He was smiling again. It would have been endearing if he hadn't been wielding a sharp object. "Don't move, Dean," Castiel warned through his grin as he dragged the tip of the knife across Dean's forearms.

 

Dean was gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles white with fear. The knife made its way up to Dean's jaw.  Dean was gritting his teeth. Castiel was mad, utterly twisted... and terrifying.

 

"Good boy," Castiel murmured. "Such a good boy!" He put the knife into his pocket and gently caressed Dean's cheek. "There's something that I need to take care of," he said abruptly. "Don't move," he warned, not looking back as he left the room.

 

Dean heard his shoes on the marble and a door slamming and locking. He let out the breath he was holding and panted for a few seconds, anxiety taking over the adrenaline. He needed a few moments to get his mind back. He'd been mugged before. He'd fought opponents far more physically imposing than Castiel... Novak. He checked the pizza box. "Castiel Novak." He tried it out, sounded innocent enough. But physical imposition wasn't the problem here. Castiel was intimidating in other ways. Something about him paralyzed Dean. Petrified him! The crooked smile, barely-concealed malicious desire, predatory smile... Dean felt like a rabbit in headlights, utterly immobilized in the presence of the madman.

 

Once he'd finished freaking out, he realized that he was losing vital time. He needed to get out of here, and quick! He surveyed the room from his chair. What did Castiel mean “don't move?” From the chair? From the room? How long would he be gone? Was there a clock in here? Dean looked around. The light from the window was fading, and if he wasn't careful, soon the room would be totally engulfed in darkness, and Dean hated the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta @funtimewriter


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel headed from the room, checking his phone again. Gabriel had chosen the worst time to text him.

_Gabriel 20:24: Lucifer is being mean to me again Cassie_

His kid brother could be such a bore. Gabriel was sixteen, and as far as Castiel was concerned, an annoying little sugary shit-head. He didn't reply to Gabriel, he just headed into his room. "Gabe?" he said spitting the name out with displeasure.

"Caaaassssie!!" Gabriel cried, running out of his room into the hallway. He looked a little red in the face.  
  
"Why are you interrupting me? It better be important."

"Lucifer's being a little shi-"

"Language."

"Lucifer's being a prick!"  
  
"Gabriel?" Castiel sighed, placing his hand gently on Gabriel's shoulder. "What did you take? You only see 'Lucifer when you're stoned." His little brother's drug habits had never concerned him before. He didn't much care for Gabriel's welfare. He just didn't appreciate the interruption.

Gabriel's eyes were glazed over and he had a far off gaze. "I think it had a cat on it? Luci took it, too!" He pointed, accusing empty space of being his accomplice. "Shut up!"

"What?" Castiel said, a little insulted.

"Don-worry-Cassie," he yawned, the words tumbling out. "Not-you! Ceilin's pretty!" Gabriel wandered back into his room.

Castiel sighed and locked the door, muting Gabriel's messages and phoning the family doctor to supervise his activities. Maybe he cared a little bit. He heard the sound of his brother jumping on his king-sized bed and telling “Lucifer” why he chose the candy print. He rubbed his temples with his hand and waited for the doctor to arrive so he could threaten him again and swear him to absolute secrecy. Not that it would matter. If he said anything, no one would believe him anyway.

His mind fluttered back to the green-eyed beauty currently occupying his dining room. He smiled. He was going to have so much fun with “Dean!” Such a handsome boy! Barely old enough to be legal. His own personal twink at his beckoning! He sighed. What perfection, from his dainty little freckles to his perfect muscled legs! Castiel wondered if his freckles continued down his back, across his shoulders, to the base of his spine, to...

"Mr.Novak, Sir?" the man said hesitantly, waving his briefcase in explanation of his presence.

"Doctor," Castiel said, a little vexed by his interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta @funtimewriter


	3. Little White Pill

He tried the window again, no luck. Dean was making too much noise. He checked over his shoulder to see whether the door had been opened. A little caution never hurt anyone. He tried to jam the lock on the window again with his locker key. Nothing. He didn't have any tools with him. There was no way he was going to get this open. He’d already meticulously sorted through all of the drawers in the dining room in the hope of finding a key, or a paperclip, or any kind of weapon, to absolutely no avail.

He tried the window again. "Fuck!" he said under his breath. If he wanted to get out, he was going to have to break it. He wasn't going to kick through the dead bolt on the door and he certainly wasn't going to be able to pick the lock on this window. "Fuck." He started to take off his shirt and wrap it around his fist. Looking through the window he couldn't exactly see an obvious escape route. He wasn't going to get back out through those gates. They were too high to climb. But he might make it into the woods, or around to that shed he could see, hopefully find a weapon? Anything to defend himself against Castiel would be greatly appreciated. He shouldn't have left his phone in the car.

He closed his eyes. "Well, here goes nothing," he whispered. Dean raised his clothed fist, preparing to slam it into the window.

Then he heard something. The lock on the door, and then the hinges of the door... And then an amused chuckle. "Really Dean, taking your clothes off already? It's not going to break. It's bullet proof and triple glazed."

"I was, uh, cleaning the window!" Dean grunted.

Castiel raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Dean smirked, looking more than a little guilty. He shrugged. “It had this annoying little black mark, dirt or somethin'…"  
"Enough, Dean." Castiel smiled. "I know what you were doing. I'm actually a little proud! I wasn't expecting you to be so cunning. But I was expecting a bit of a fight when I came to get you. So…?" He held up a clear plastic cup of water in one hand. In his other outstretched palm sat a tiny white pill.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Dean said breathlessly, frozen in terror.

"It's a sedative, Dean. Nothing permanent. You can take it this way, or we can do this the hard way."

Dean chuckled and made a lighthearted reference to a movie Castiel had never watched.

Castiel tilted his head to one side, still offering the plastic cup and pill.

Dean pulled the shirt off of his hand and put it on. Then backed closer to the window. "I think I'll pass on that." He took up a more defensive stance, his feet nudging further apart to give him stability.

"Okay!" Castiel shrugged. "Option two!" he called out to no one, looking around the room before placing the cup and pill on the table. He walked up to Dean who was raising his fists and had clenching his jaw tightly shut. Castiel rolled his eyes. "I really hate conflict,” he said. "One last chance." He motioned towards the cup and pill. Tilting his head, he analyzed Dean's stern expression with his sky blue eyes. "Well!" Castiel shrugged nonchalantly.

Dean gulped, trying to take another step back but finding himself a little too close to the window.  
His dad had given him some training, but this psychopath was a professional. He killed and maimed people for fun! Dean was no exception. Right?

Castiel pulled Dean's fist across his chest and Dean tried to strike with his free hand. The punch hit Castiel square on the jaw but Castiel didn't take long to recover. His next move was too fast for Dean to block. He caught Dean's recovering fist and spun him around. Dean found himself looking back out of the window with Castiel flush against his back. He stomped on Castiel's toe, causing him to cry out in pain, and then tried desperately to dive away from him. But it didn't work! Castiel was holding him tightly with both of his hands trapped between his back and Castiel's torso. Dean squirmed desperately. Castiel kicked his feet out from under him and pushed him onto the ground so that he was laying with his nose on the rug. Then he was pushing himself down onto Dean's hips and pressing his hands above his head. Dean rolled over, throwing Castiel off of his hips and onto his back on the rug. Dean scrambled over and hit him again but Castiel dodged it. Then he pushed Dean off with his knees. Now he was lying on top of him, trapping his thighs with his legs and his hands with an arm above Dean's head.

"Haha!" Castiel smiled triumphantly. Blood was dripping drown his lip. Dean watched it gather into a droplet. Castiel smiled again. Dean struggled fruitlessly. He was totally trapped.

Dean cried out as Castiel moved his arms underneath him. With both of his hands free, Castiel was able to retrieve another white pill from his suit pocket, still grinning. "That was more difficult than I expected,” he acknowledged, studying the pill with that same blue intensity.

Dean was trying not to shake. "Son of a bitch!" Dean said, squirming again.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Language," Castiel warned him calmly.

Dean smiled tilting his head. "Fuck you. Fuck you very much!"  
  
Castiel frowned and then shrugged, covering Dean's nose with his hand. "So disobedient!"

Dean struggled beneath him, knowing that the second he opened his mouth Castiel would drug him. But eventually he wasn't going to be able to resist, and when his mouth did open to drag in precious oxygen, Castiel popped the pill in. "Swallow," he commanded. Dean could feel him pressing against his abdomen, the weight of a full grown man crushing the teen. Castiel watched him steadily. The pill tasted of flour, rough against his tongue and he grimaced. "I'm sure it tastes fine. Stop making such a big deal and just swallow it!"

Dean made an obvious swallowing motion. He was sure Castiel would feel it against the hand he had covering Dean's mouth and nose.

"Nice try. Swallow it. Or you'll only pass out from lack of oxygen."

Dean gave in. He felt fine. Maybe Castiel would get off him? He felt able. He could still move his hands and feet. Maybe if the man thought he was out of it he might get the upper hand? Element of surprise!

Castiel knelt and then got off of him, brushing his hands off on the trousers of his suit. "Good boy," Castiel murmured. "Slowly now."

He waited for Dean to drag himself off the ground and was briefly surprised when he jumped to his feet and tried to land a lazy punch. Castiel caught his fist and pulled the barely conscious teen into his arms. "I said slowly," he murmured into his hair. "Otherwise, you'll pass out!"

Dean drooled onto his jacket and tried to stay upright.

"Come on." Castiel pulled him over his shoulder in a parody of a fireman's lift and carried him out of the room. Dean trying to fight him but was unable to find the energy to launch an effective attack. He found himself slamming his fists emptily onto Castiel's purple clad back with very little of the desired effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these are so short! I will try and make the next chapter more of a substantial one... :)
> 
>  
> 
> Also; Thanks to my beta @funtimewriter xx


	4. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas brings Dean breakfast...

He woke up in soft sheets, wonderful soft sheets. Touching his skin everywhere. Like rolling in a "cloud." He finished his thought out loud. A quite chuckle interrupted his musings, and that was when Dean remembered.

"I take it you slept well, then."

Dean sat bolt upright, ignoring the dizziness. It was a large room, quite traditionally styled. A huge bed, in which Dean was lying, with a canopy and white sheets. The bed was parallel to a small fireplace, not currently lit, and adjacent to a large sash window. Through the window he could see the bright grey sky and the mist hanging onto the treetops. Dean could open it and jump out? Perfect escape plan, break your leg! He mentally facepalmed.

Bright light from the window was shining on Castiel, dancing across his sharp features and reflecting in his startlingly blue eyes. He was sitting on a leather arm chair in the corner between the door, which Dean assumed was locked, and the fireplace. He was typing on a laptop, his face totally serene. "Dean?" he asked, looking up to check on his captive.

"I slept fine, thanks," Dean said, finding his voice again. "Uh…"

Castiel looked up again, frowning at Dean. The silence grew uncomfortable. "Would you like some breakfast? It's still morning."

"Geeze, how long was I out?"

"All night." Castiel closed his laptop and set it on the mahogany table beside him. "I'm sure your body appreciated it, considering your normal sleeping habits." Castiel checked his watch. It looked expensive.

Dean's normal sleeping habits, huh? Kind of stalkery thing to say. Dean thought about the last time he'd gotten his prescribed eight hours sleep. He couldn't remember a time in which he'd even been allowed eight hours sleep. He'd always needed to be up earlier and work late, to provide for Sammy. Shit! Sammy!

"Breakfast?" Castiel questioned again.

"When can I see my brother?"

"Pardon?" Castiel seemed a little taken back by Dean’s abrupt question.

Dean tried to climb out of the bed. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. At least Castiel hadn't undressed him. He tried to climb off the bed, he couldn't. He looked down at his ankle. A padded cuff was tight around the bone. He hadn't noticed it before. He shook his foot out. He had around ten feet of chain. It was a light chain, made of some funky expensive metal he couldn't pronounce, no doubt. Sam would know what it was called. It was wrapped around the bedpost. "Where's my brother?"

"Sam?"

"Yes, Sam."

"Why don't you have some breakfast first and when can talk about this later." Castiel dismissed him with a hand and headed out to fetch Dean's breakfast.

"No," Dean said stubbornly.

"That wasn't a question," Castiel growled closing the door behind him.

Dean shuffled closer to the end of the bed in order to get a better look at his cuff. Silver in color, cold to the touch. He brought his foot up onto his lap and tried to squeeze a finger in along side his ankle, no luck. The thick cushiony fabric was at least an inch thick. Maybe if he wiggled it a little bit he could get his finger in? If he could get his finger in, maybe he could get his ankle out. It wouldn't fit. The pressure between his ankle and the padding was too much. Dean wiggled his toes. Well, not too much, loose enough to get keep his blood circulating. Dean sighed, untangled the chain from the post and climbed off the bed. Where were his shoes? He tried the window, locked. He couldn't reach the door.

Castiel returned to see Dean's legs sticking out from underneath the four poster bed, his butt occasionally wiggling and toes clenching in exertion. He paused, holding the breakfast tray in his hands, and watching his poor little prisoner doing, what was he doing?

Dean heaved himself back out from beneath the bed. That fastening just would not come loose! There was no way he was getting the chain off this way. Maybe if he sat back and yanked it hard enough to pull out the rivets attaching it to the floor? But something felt different, the room felt different. Dean was no longer alone. He spun quickly, still sitting on the floor.

"What on earth were you doing?" Castiel smiled. He was obviously finding this entire affair hilarious.

Dean was not laughing. "Exploring.” he said sarcastically, eyeing up the food Castiel was placing on a set of drawers, just out of Dean's reach.

"Find anything of interest?"

"No," Dean said sulkily, still glaring at the tantalizing food.

"So, you are hungry!"

Smug bastard. Dean pulled the chain loose and made his way to the armchair, throwing himself into the soft leather. Dean moved his glare to his captor. "I could eat."

"I'm afraid that's not good enough."

Come on, Castiel! That was bacon over there, Dean could smell it. This was a crime against humanity! Not that Castiel hadn't committed those before. "I'm hungry," Dean said, eyes resting on the bacon. He licked his lips.

"I think I'm going to need you to be a little more polite, to counteract how rude you were this morning."

"Could you pass me the food?" Dean requested, giving up his sulkiness in the presence of bacon. Come on, it was bacon!

"Please," Castiel corrected him.

"What?" Dean furrowed his brow.

"Could you pass me the food, please!" Castiel really emphasized the “please,” a smug little grin plastered on his devilishly handsome face.

"Please Castiel, Lord of the Freaking Manor, if you would be so kind as to pass me some food?" Dean almost added a bow.

Castiel's face was like thunder. "I don't think you understand…" Castiel strode over to Dean, drawing himself up to his full height. "…Who exactly you're talking to." He stopped just inches from Dean and forcefully pulled Dean's face towards him, fingertips locking around Dean's jaw.

Dean freaked out a little, this guy was intimidating.

"I think you should ask me again. This time for forgiveness."

Dean didn't dare interrupt. Castiel dominated the entire room. His presence made Dean want to sink into the chair and disappear, leather protecting him from this vengeful madman. “I-“ He struggled to find his voice. "I'm really sorry, Mr.Novak. I didn't mean to insult you."

"Better." Castiel smiled, so brightly Dean found himself returning it before he could even process what he was doing. "Now, would you like some breakfast, Dean?"

"Yes, please," Dean said without quarrel.

"Good boy." Castiel returned, tray in hand and set it down on the side table.

There were no knives and forks, just finger food. And that wonderful bacon was wrapped in pancakes for easy consumption. Disappointingly there was no sign of any syrup. Dean felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks, but he kept the pace on the right side of polite for fear of the wrath of the man watching his every bite.

The man in question was sitting, quite comfortably, on the bed. His socked feet crossed over one another, cushioned by the sheets in which Dean had slept, leaning against the pillows. To all the world he might have seemed relaxed, but Dean could see his eyes following Dean with the watchful nature of a hawk about to catch its prey. Dean suddenly realized how easy it would be for Castiel to force him onto that bed and the bacon tasted decidedly cardboard-like. Dean's appetite dwindled as various unpleasant scenarios played out in his mind. Maybe if he ate really slowly it would give him more time for a plan? An escape plan. His gaze flickered to the window and then back to his plastic plate. He didn't even have silverware!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more thanks to my beta, you must know who they are by now! 
> 
> @funtimewriter


	5. The nail.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an idea, Cas organises a shower...

Castiel hadn't been back since breakfast. He'd left Dean with a large bottle of water and instructions that if he needed the bathroom he was to call for the man standing outside of his door, who would attach his cuff to a smaller chain and lead him though to the bathroom. Dean had done so twice now, still none the wiser to the layout of the house and without a weapon. There was no mirror on the bathroom and plastic bottle tops were of little use. There was no clock in his room, so Dean had no idea how much time had passed. He'd searched every drawer, scoured the floor for loose nails and tried to open the window three times already. He was stuck. He yanked dejectedly on his chain once again, having given up hope of getting it loose. At least the pointless movement was comforting. His stomach growled loudly and he made his way over to the bed. If he was stuck here he was at least going to sit on the most comfortable piece of furniture!

Meditation, that ancient technique. Sammy had mentioned it to Dean once. He was sitting cross legged, twelve years old, in the middle of their crummy motel room. Dean remembered it well.

"Sam? What the fuck are you doing?" Dean burst in though the barely hinged door, shunting it shut behind him and turning the key.

"Meditating." Sam sighed at his older brother's ignorance.

"Medi-what?"

"You heard me."

"Sammy?" Dean looked a little amused.

"Please be quiet," Sam deadpanned, his eyes still closed.

A few awkward seconds of silence passed. Dean set his bag down on the dresser and proceeded to take off his shoes. Once that was taken care of, he leaned against the wall and proceeded to watch his little brother, who was sitting there, totally still, with his eyes closed, crosslegged on the motel floor. "Yeah, but why?" Dean said, exasperated.

Sam sighed. "It makes the time pass quicker if I imagine myself somewhere else,” he said curtly.

Dean didn't ask why he wanted to be somewhere else because he already knew the answer.

Dean tried to recreate Sam's pose in his new prison, cold cuff resting against the fabric of his jeans. "Imagine myself somewhere else? This is ridiculous!" He rolled his eyes and then closed them. What would Sam say? He'd laugh so hard... Dean mustn't think about that. He tried to distract himself with envisioning his “happy place.” Maybe a meadow? Nah, fuck that. A party? Between the legs of some gorgeous woman? None of his “other places” stuck. Where did he want to be? His favorite place?

A nice car. His favorite car. Not just any car, a 67' Chevrolet Impala. Dean smirked at the thought. Sexy black muscle car. He imagined himself reclining against the leather interior. Turning the key. The roar of the engine. A wonderful cacophony of sexy growls. "Oh Baby," he whispered, stroking his imaginary steering wheel and pulling out onto an endless highway. Dean laid back into a more comfortable position on the bed, the Impala taking him far, far away from this nightmare.

When he opened his eyes it was no darker or lighter than it had been before. As if no time had passed. "Fuck." He was bored as fuck. He slammed his fist onto the bed in irritation. Perhaps that's what he would do? Trash the place! Create enough noise to get Castiel back and then smash his skull in with a chair. He probably carried the key for Dean's ankle cuff on him. Probably...

Dean glanced at the room again. If he didn't do something he was going to die of boredom. Boredom is better than Castiel coming back, though. Dean tried to work out some other escape route. Throw the chair through the window? He tried to heave it off the floor, too heavy. Using his new burst of productivity, he realized he hadn't checked the canopy. Something had to be holding it up? He climbed onto the bed, sinking into the mattress, and peered into the corners.

A nail! A nail! Dean almost jumped in excitement. A nail!

What the fuck could he do with a nail?

He began to pry it out with his fingers. He was going to be here a while.

Once the nail was free Dean gave it a better look, placing it in the palm of his left hand and wiping his bloody right hand on the inside of his shirt. Turns out it was harder to get out then he had anticipated. Two inches of steel. What could he do with that? He looked at the lock on his cuff again. Who was he kidding? He wasn't going to pick a lock with a nail. Maybe he could tuck it into his fist and use it as a weapon?

Useless waste of time. And now Castiel would probably be angry at him for getting himself bloody and cutting his hand… Dean caught himself. Why would Castiel even care that he'd hurt himself? He'd probably be more upset at Dean's attempt at vandalism. A nail is no match for Castiel's gun! Although, a well-aimed hit to his temple and... out like a light.

Dean turned his treasure in his hand and then gave up. What on earth was the point? He managed to lick his blooded fingers clean, then returned to meditating.

What seemed like a few hours passed. Dean was fiddling with the cuff when it happened. He spotted a tiny crevice, a seam in the metal. A hinge. Just wide enough that the tip of the nail might fit in. A little leverage and maybe, just maybe, he could crack the bastard open and walk free. He turned the nail in his hand again. Worth a try, right?  
Then he heard the lock on the door click. He froze in fear. Castiel was back. Dean launched himself onto the bed, hiding the nail in between the mattress and the headboard. He sat up, crossing his legs and watching the door with trepidation.

It swung open to reveal Castiel, who was wearing a crumpled shirt and velvety green waistcoat. "Good evening, Dean."

Well, at least that answered Dean's first question. Evening, maybe that meditation thing was effective after all?

"I assume you would like to shower and change your clothes," Castiel said, placing a neat stack of clothing on the chest of drawers. The chest of drawers Dean couldn't reach.

"Yeah, uh, that would be nice," Dean said quietly, nodding.

"Indeed." Castiel smiled, and Dean froze. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't reach the clothes. Was Castiel expecting him to undress? How was he going to shower? Dean felt his heart beat quickening. The idea of Castiel watching him shower turned him on a little more than he would've liked. Nevermind the idea of the handsome man joining Dean in the shower. Dean swallowed, paranoid Castiel could hear his heartbeat in the silence.

"After you've showered and dressed you will join me for dinner," Castiel continued.

"Okay," Dean said quietly, thinking back to his nail. Maybe he should retrieve it when Castiel wasn't looking? At least then he would have some form of protection, at the very least a crude escape plan.

Castiel walked towards him, standing just in front of Dean. "Am I going to have to incapacitate you in order to wash and dress you?" he asked, totally serious. "Would it help if I told you that even if you managed to break free, you wouldn't be able to leave the property and that your punishment for trying would be... memorable?"

"I'd rather you didn't incapacitate me." Dean tried to answer with the same clinical tone

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Would you, now?"

"Yes, I don't want sleep through dinner," Dean said.

"Of course not." Castiel's grin lit up the room, although there was a certain malice to it that Dean couldn't ignore. "I'm going to undo your pretty little anklet," Castiel told him, running his hand over Deans, shirt collar and shoulder. "Then you're going to undress."

Dean gulped, like hell he was. Undress? No fucking thank you!

"Then I will lead you to the shower and chain you to the wall. I will proceed to wash you. Then remove you from your fastenings, dry you. And return you to your room."

"This room?" Dean only managed to catch the last part of that conversation. He had to keep sight of the nail. That was the only opportunity for escape that he had had so far.

"Yes, this is your room. You will find the glass to be impenetrable, the furniture to be secured and the door to be bolted shut." Castiel seemed a little perturbed. Anticipating Dean's various escape plans.

"Hang on, you're going to do what?" Dean went back over what Castiel had said a minute earlier. "Oh, hell no!" Dean shuffled himself up the bed away from the man.

Castiel did not seem amused. He sighed. "Once again, as I did before, I will give you two options. You may come willingly to the shower, where I may or may not restrain you, depending on your behavior, and then enjoy a civil meal with me by the fire place. Or," the voice turned menacing. "You can be difficult and see where that gets you."

Dean shivered. He really didn't want to know where that got him. He also didn't want to be chained in a shower while a stranger washed him.

"Going once," Castiel said, ticking it off on his finger absentmindedly. "Twice."

Dean pulled of his shirt. "I guess it's bath time."

"Good boy!" Castiel replied admiring Dean's abdomen. He really was rather handsome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praise @funtimewriter


	6. Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut involved, not for the fluffier people... not violent tho.
> 
> I hope this doesn't come back to haunt me in future...  
>  ** at uni interview**  
>  Interviewer: "So what sort of work experience did you do, we found a few of your primary pieces of work: published online..."  
>  Me:

It was awkward, undressing in front of Castiel. Really awkward, lthough he'd been allowed to keep his boxers on to walk down the hall, with the promise of Castiel making short work of them in the shower. Dean shuddered as he remembered being told that. Once he was just in his boxers, Castiel had unattached his anklet from the bedroom chain and attached it to a chain spanning just six feet. Then he’d cumbersomely led him down the corridor into a huge bathroom. This one had mirrors. Dean briefly considered making himself a weapon.

Castiel clipped and locked Dean's chain onto a convenient ring located on the wall next to the door. Dean wondered whether he'd done this before? Judging from the inbuilt equipment, the answer was either yes, or that he was super kinky.

Castiel set the clean clothes he had been carrying down on a cabinet and took off his shoes and socks.

The shower was unlike anything Dean had ever seen, easily big enough for four grown men. Three shower heads, and one... what even was that? It looked like a silver tube with a weird shape at the end. It looked uncomfortable. Dean didn't think he wanted to find out what it was for.

Castiel stepped behind the glass door of the sand-colored shower and began to pull a hand-sized tile away from the wall. It was the kinky alternative to a hidden room in a bookshelf. He revealed four more of the rings, like the one Dean was attached to currently. Dean shook his ankle in protest, hoping these fittings were looser, or less permanent. They weren't.

Castiel didn't look up to acknowledge his attempt. "What temperature would you prefer?" he asked. He’d finished pulling out and checked the security of all of his bases for Dean's fastenings, clicking them into place and then pulling them hard. Then he stepped out into the room and opened a cupboard. Dean flinched as he passed.

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly. “Warm?" He shrugged. He heard Castiel rooting around in the cupboard.

Castiel snickered at Dean's innocent remark. He returned from his trip to the cupboard holding four more cuffs. They were similar to the one Dean had on his ankle, but not as padded and made of what looked to be a waterproof material, as opposed to metal and leather. "I'm going to put these on now. Give me your wrists," Castiel commanded.

Dean paused for a moment. Was he really going to let this happen?

Castiel seemed to notice his apprehension and made the decision for him, sighing in annoyance and pulling Dean's hands forward. He fastened the cuffs, which Dean saw had little clips on them for easy fastening and undoing, and then clipped them together. "Don't kick me,” he warned gruffly as he knelt down to do the same for Dean's left ankle. He pulled a key out from his back pocket and undid Dean's right cuff, then replaced it with his new showering outfit. "Good boy!" Castiel rose up and gently maneuvered Dean to the shower.

Dean was increasingly worried for the fate of his underwear.

He did Dean's ankles first, face to the wall, intending to save the “best” till last, Dean presumed. Then he unclipped Dean's wrists from one another and attached them to the wall. Dean had planned to fight back but Castiel's movements were just too sure for him to collect his thoughts into a coherent plan. He felt guilty when he realized he'd been so wrapped up in the idea of Castiel seeing him naked that he'd forgotten to work out how to escape.

Castiel turned to the first shower head and pointed it at Dean's back. Dean had to stretch his neck to see what Castiel was doing. He was barefoot, fiddling with the temperature and then running a little on his hands. “Perfect," he whispered. "Apple, mint or tea tree?" he asked Dean, hitting the “on” button for the shower head and increasing the pressure.

Its heavenly spray rained down on Dean. Dean almost moaned in pleasure. He heard Castiel leaving the shower and searching through a cupboard. "What?" he choked out, enjoying the warm water soaking though his muscles.

"Apple, mint or tea tree?"

Dean heard the sound of a knife on the counter, metal distinctive from the sound of plastic. He could feel the water soaking through his black boxers. "I dunno?" He heard the flick of a cap and saw Castiel lean in and put a green bottle down on the floor beside him. He looked over his shoulder, Castiel had taken off his shirt and jeans and was pulling down his underwear, throwing them all into a hamper. Dean looked away, glad he was facing the wall.

"I guess I'll choose, then," Castiel answered, closing the door behind him to trap the steam that was filling up the space. He was naked.

Dean was panicking. He felt a warm soapy hand glide down the muscles in his back and he tensed.

"Oops," Castiel said playfully. "Forgot about these."

He felt the knife following the suds down his back. Dean was hyperventilating. Castiel was going to cut him. Perfect place to do it, he would bleed to death. It would be so painful! He felt Castiel pull his boxers away from his body and then snap them back. He dragged the knife over the top of Dean's thigh. Dean shuddered. There was a loud sound of the rip of fabric and his boxers were pulled away from him. Dean had never felt so naked. He reflexively tried to cover himself but he was held tight by his predicament and prevented.

Castiel tossed the knife out of the shower and Dean heard it clatter on the bathroom floor, breaking the silence. Then Castiel began to run his hands over Dean's body again, massaging the apple scented soap into Dean's skin. Telling him how good he was being. "I'm going to turn you around, Dean, so I can reach the rest of you." Dean shivered in fear. "You've been so good for me, Dean, can I trust you enough not to attach your ankles to the wall?" Castiel asked as he firmly ran his hands over Dean's buttocks. Dean almost moaned but caught himself. That was almost very embarrassing. Castiel massaged his butt cheeks with relish, waiting on an answer. Then running water over his body to clean off all the soap.

"I won't try anything," Dean lied. If Castiel even tried to touch his dick, Dean was going to kick him in the balls on principal. This was gay enough already. Dean wasn't gay.

Castiel kissed the apex of his shoulder blades, slapped him on the butt and reached up for his right wrist, attaching it to the same ring as his left. Then he unfastened both of his ankles, and spun Dean around. He moved his left hand back into position.

Dean was naked, Castiel was naked. He was flush against Dean's body. For a moment Dean felt the warmth of everything that was Castiel encompassing him entirely. He closed his eyes, ashamed of how much he had enjoyed Castiel's touch.

"If you try anything at all Dean, your punishment will be severe," Castiel warned, his hands finding their way to Dean's chiseled chest. Running his hands over the muscles. Dean remembered why he didn't mind having his ass out. At least Castiel couldn't see his blissful facial expressions. Castiel was grinning when Dean opened his eyes, running his hands over Dean's upper thighs, a little too close to...

Castiel ran his hand over Dean's lower belly, following the trail of golden hair down. Dean's breathing was labored, watching Castiel's fingers dance and tease him while his other hand held him flush to the wall. Castiel followed the trail right the way to his cock. He wrapped a soapy hand around him and Dean cried out, trying to back further into the wall and almost slipping.  
"Good boy," Castiel coaxed, creating a lazy rhythm with his hand. Dean's jaw hung open. He had to fight back! He had to! But he couldn't, it was just so nice. Castiel increased his pace. Dean moaned loudly and was greeted with a triumphant grin from his captor. "Such a good boy!" Castiel said, twisting his hand just before the head to hit that special spot. Dean cried out, scampering up the wall using his wrists for leverage. Castiel easily followed the movement.  
Dean threw his head back in pleasure against the wall. He was not gay! He was not gay! He was not gay! Castiel felt so good, though. He should be fighting back! Dean tried to collect his thoughts but Castiel had changed his pace again. Dean was nearing orgasm. He bucked against Castiel's hand, but Castiel would not give him release. After his second attempt to come, Dean realized that Castiel was edging him.

"I need…" he whispered, desperate to find release. "Please, I need…" Whimpering now.

"Would you like to come Dean?" Castiel whispered, running his finger over the head of Dean's dick.

Dean hesitated, his dignity! But this was torture. His body was on fire, begging for it. "Yes," he whined at a particularly firm stroke.

"Ask me nicely."

"Please can I come?" Dean begged, choking back fresh tears, the water still running over his head.

"You can do better than that!" Castiel taunted him, running soothing circles in Dean's shoulder.

"Please can I come, sir? Please!" Dean said quietly.

"What was that?" Castiel was grinning.

"Sir, please can I come?"

Castiel tilted his head, pretending to consider the offer. Dean had his eyes tightly shut and was chanting the word “please.” "Yes, Dean," Castiel said, finally, increasing the speed of his hand and forcing Dean to orgasm. Spilling come all over Castiel's lower body and hand. "Better?" he asked.

Dean just nodded, amazed by what had transpired. Castiel unclipped his wrists and finished washing him, making him kneel facing the wall to do his hair. Then he maneuvered him on his shaky legs out into the bathroom and toweled him dry with a big white towel, wrapping him a warm robe for good measure and then doing the same for himself.

Dean sat on the counter while Castiel removed his cuffs and replaced the ankle one, warning him that he had to earn his right not to wear it. Then he escorted Dean back to his room, where he allowed him to dress in his dinner clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to my dedicated beta @funtimewriter


	7. Locked!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries the front door. Dumbass

 

Navigating the slippery stairs was difficult in only socks. Dean held tight to the wooden banister as he made his way to the dining room.  Window, could he jump out?  Door, was it locked?  Table, weapon. Vase, weapon. Guards... so far he'd counted four. Make that six.  Dean shook his head, begging his negative thoughts to just fall out.  He'd never escape!  He wished for his thoughts to just clatter to the ground, echoing in the now-empty hallway.

 

He looked around nervously.  Was he really alone? With no chain linking his stupid little cuff to his self-proclaimed “master?”  A chance!  A wonderful opportunity!  He checked again, just to be sure, and headed quickly to the huge front door. An exit to his new prison.  His escape, just handed to him. His fingers reached for the handle as he silently crossed he room.  Grasping it and then turning.  Locked.

 

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Castiel said, exaggerated shock morphing into a twisted smile when he found his glee difficult to contain.  His footsteps were loud on the marble floor.

 

Dean's hand dropped to his side.  It was locked. Why had he been so stupid?  Of course it was a trap, a test even.  Another way to humiliate him and twist his thoughts. To make him give up all hope of escape.  He blushed furiously, his shameful eyes finding no forgiveness in his reflection in the polished marble.

 

Castiel sauntered over to him and Dean mentally prepared himself to grovel. His pride was still recovering from the shower incident. "I thought you'd know better. I already warned you about the... results of such childish and rude actions," Castiel scolded, tilting Dean's head up with a finger under his chin. He met Dean's eyes with a steely glare.  "There will be punishment for your unruly behavior, of course."  The sly bastard was grinning, his hand firmly cupping Dean's cheek.  Deep in thought as his thumb traced Dean's cheekbone.  “One might even go as far as to call you a little stupid, gullible even," he added, barely above a whisper. He held Dean's gaze as he ran his other hand down Dean's arm. It felt intimate. "Really think I'd leave the front door unlocked?"  He tutted.

 

The clothes Castiel had left for him were modest.  Surprising, considering Castiel's obvious intentions for Dean. Dean shuddered in humiliation as he remembered what he had endured in the shower. (Enjoyed in the shower?  Great, now he was confused!)  A green shirt, dark green.  He supposed forest green would be been a more accurate decision. It was silky, but not silk.  Evidently some expensive cotton.  And jeans, simple plain jeans.  All Dean was missing was a t-shirt and he could pretend everything was normal. As it was, he had had to struggle with buttons.

 

Castiel was still smiling at him. "Whatever will we do with you Dean?"  He shrugged playfully and began to undo the buttons Dean had gone to so much effort to do up, stopping once Dean's collarbones were fully exposed. "That's better,” he told Dean's chest as his fingers danced over Dean's right collarbone. Dean tensed at the contact.

 

His unfaltering gaze returned to Dean's face. They were close now, too close, but Dean felt frozen.  He couldn't move away from the older man. He could hardly breathe. Heartbeat echoing in his empty head, so loud he was sure Castiel could hear it.

 

"Dinner," Castiel reminded him, breathlessly. "Although, I'm half tempted to just eat you. You look positively..."  He paused and nuzzled into Dean's neck, biting his earlobe and soothing the burn with kisses when Dean inhaled sharply in surprise. "Delicious!" he whispered.

 

Dinner looked marvelous.  Dean could smell steak.  Steak pie.  He saw it, beautiful, adorning the white plates, and his mouth watered. Two places were set, one at the head of the table (where Dean presumed Castiel would sit) and one just adjacent, to the left in fact. Dean started to take his place, pulling the chair back.

 

"No," Castiel corrected, pointing to the floor beside his own seat, where a small cushion was carelessly thrown from one of the smart green love seats adorning the corner of the room. It was really close to Castiel's chair.

 

"But…!" Dean foolishly interrupted.

 

"No," Castiel said firmly, not looking at Dean or pointing again as he took his seat. Dean grumbled something incoherent, and Castiel raised an eyebrow, lowering it only when Dean had taken his place, cross-legged beside him. "Better," Castiel praised, beginning to cut into his pie.

 

Dean's stomach rumbled in protest but Castiel only smirked.  A few minutes into dinner Dean was beginning to feel a little agitated. Why bring him downstairs, into the dining room, set two places and make two meals if he was to have nothing? He shifted on the floor and Castiel threw him a warning glance.  Another forkful of food found its way to Castiel’s mouth.  He moaned around it pornographically. "This is really very good, Dean."

 

Dean frowned, not trusting himself to speak.

 

Castiel grinned triumphantly.  He reached across the table for Dean's plate. "I would have let you sit up at the table, but your disobedience makes me wonder whether you are to be trusted with silverware."  Castiel's tone was conversational.  A forkful of steak pie appeared before Dean. He reached out for it hungrily. "No," Castiel scolded, slapping his hand away. What?

 

Castiel had turned his chair so that Dean was almost sitting with his face parallel to his crotch. So close that he could comfortably rest his head on Castiel's thigh. Dean was forced to look up at Castiel, who was staring at him with determination.  The fork came closer to his mouth.  Castiel was going to feed him.  Dean backed away in protest.

 

"Fine," Castiel said moodily.  Dean winced at his harsh tone. "Go ahead and starve.  As punishment for your blatant stupidity, all your meals will be hand fed, as you seem to dislike it so much, until I see you've learned your lesson."  Castiel retracted his offering, instead eating it himself and returned to his dinner.

 

This was mortifying.  Dean Winchester, at the feet of this stranger, being fucking fed bits of pie on a fork, like a fucking pet! His stomach protested and Castiel snickered, taking a sip of a red colored liquid in a beautiful crystal glass.

 

Another few minutes passed and the fork appeared before Dean again. Dean cautiously approached it and took it into his mouth. The pie was so delicious he might actually moan.  Shit, he did.  Castiel was beaming at him like a proud parent.

 

Dinner continued like that.  Dean tentatively accepting food from Castiel's fork and the occasional sip of wine.  Castiel's hand coming to rest in his hair.  When Castiel declined him another forkful of pudding (a delicious chocolate tart Dean had found himself enjoying), Dean's pout had been comical.  Castiel wiped the chocolate off Dean's chin with his thumb and gently ran his hand over Dean's cheek. "So good for me today!"  He tenderly pressed his lips to the top of Dean's head.

 

Dean didn't have time to back away, didn't have time to react.  But he did have time to slide one of the many knives off of the table and tuck into the back of his underwear. Weapon, check.  He was smiling as he looked up at a glee filled Castiel.

 

Castiel planted a chaste kiss on Dean's lips, pleasantly surprised when Dean didn't protest, and told him he was dismissed to brush his teeth and get a good night’s sleep. He'd wake him for breakfast.

 

Dean did as he was asked, silently plotting his escape while the guards chained him to the bed. Hiding his knife under his pillow once he was sure the guards had left.  Listening for the lock of the door.  Then quietly waiting until the house was silent to pry open his cuff with the nail.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't locked...

The most satisfying sound filled Dean's ears when the cuff fell open and he could flex his ankle, a free man. He clambered off the bed, socked feet pressing against the floor, shirt rustling on the sheet. Castiel had, quite kindly, provided him night clothes, but Dean had not taken up his offer, staying dressed in the jeans and shirt so that when he got back to town people would be less suspicious. Shoeless, but clothed. His plan was to get out of the house and someway, somehow get to town. Find someone to help him. God, he hoped someone would help him. Six foot muscly teenage guy with no shoes on knocking on your door at gone midnight? Dean tried not to think about the reaction he might receive. He tried to focus on just getting out of this hellhole, then he could think about the… consequences. He doubted his car was still about, and even if it was, he didn't want to risk someone spotting his plates and calling Castiel. So he'd hike to town. Break in to someone's house or maybe just steal some money. If anyone was kind enough, just borrow a phone. Then he’d call Sam, tell him what had happened. Call the police, tell them. Witness protection, Castiel gets arrested. Bam! Done.

Window or door? He peered through the gap in the curtains. He was two stories up. If he broke it and ran, sure it would be loud and he'd probably break something in the fall, but he would be less likely to be caught early on by guards. Then again, he could also just pick all the door locks. The one on his bedroom door was simplistic. But, from what he’d seen earlier, the front door might be tricky.

He gripped the steak knife he had stolen from Castiel's table and picked up the now-empty water bottle from the table that he previously couldn’t reach. First, he removed the top and bottom. Then he cut a plastic circle and jammed it into the door frame, near to the latch. Yale lock, easy to trip. He wiggled the plastic sheet he’d fashioned upwards and pulled the latch towards himself. With a small satisfying clicking noise, and a lot of exertion on Dean's part, the door clicked open. Dean sighed in relief, and then tensed again. Now for the tricky part. Freedom!

He crept silently up the hallway, crossing to the staircase. He wished he knew the layout of the house a little better. It would be better to use a different door, but he didn't have much choice. He made his way down the stairs, wincing every time he made a sound. His breath was coming fast, his heartbeat bouncing off the walls. He’d almost made it.

Shit. The lock on the door was impossible to pick, he had no tools. Fuck! He was totally stuck! Maybe he could look for some keys? Perhaps in the kitchen? Or he might be lucky enough to find a back door. Rifling through drawers would be too loud. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Perhaps he should just creep back to his own room, pretend this never happened? No! He was Dean Winchester, what would his father say? He could have joined the marines! A Winchester doesn’t retreat to their room when their escape plan looks bust. Dean glanced forlornly back at the staircase. A Winchester doesn’t retreat.

He tiptoed around to the other doors in the lobby, locked, locked... One was significantly smaller than the others, kitchen? Unlocked! He pushed it open with trepidation. Kitchen! Stainless steel counters and cupboards, higher than Dean could ever hope to reach, lined the walls. It was still faintly warm in here. Dean checked the silver clock sitting above the stove, 3 am. He ran his hand over his face, nerves making him twitchy, and made his way across to one of the two other doors. Surely one must be an exit!

He prayed there wasn't an alarm as he sealed his sweaty palm to the door handle, pulling it open slowly, as if that would lessen the likely hood of an alarm. Pantry. Well, the food looked delicious! Dean was half tempted to just have a small feast and wait to be discovered. He felt sick as he thought about what Castiel might do if he found him, gorging himself on pie, in the pantry. Although, Dean couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than being hand fed. That was pretty atrocious. Best not tempt his creative captor.

He edged cautiously over to the other door, as if it might bite him. Pulling gently down on the handle and pushing it open. No alarm. The cool spring night air blew across his face. Freedom!

He stepped quickly out into the darkness, closing the door behind him, and then made his way across the garden. Dewy rainwater soaking through his socks, and dampening his feet. He trod on a stone and had to bite his hand to prevent himself from cursing at the shock. Almost there, he promised himself. Reaching the edge of the woodland. Almost…

Almost where? He had been in the forest for over an hour now, and still found absolutely nothing. Surely he can’t be that far from civilization! Fifteen minutes from town, minimum. Maybe he was heading in the wrong direction? He leant against a tree, his back to the direction he had come in. Oh God, what if he’d been going the wrong way this entire time? He drew his left foot up to his chest and pulled off the drenched sock, twisting it and watching the water hit the dirt with disgust. Eugh! He returned it to his foot and did the same with the other. “Well this is fun,” he sarcastically told the forest in a hushed tone. He looked up at the sky to try and work out which direction he had been heading. There was the north star! Shit! He’d been going the wrong direction this entire time! Dean cradled his head in his hands, how could he have fucked his escape attempt up that badly?

There was probably civilization this way… right? A few hundred miles! He punched the air with frustration. “Shit!” he cursed, quietly. What was he going to do? He couldn’t return to the house. They must know he was gone by now. If he tried to head into town, he risked running into them. He would have to just continue in this direction and pray to find some form of human habitation. The likelihood of him stumbling across a settlement was a hundred to one. He could be traveling for days! He looked pitifully at his feet. He didn’t think he could do that. His father would be so disappointed! Dean started walking.

He didn't get far before two men in black jumped him, sending him face first into the dirt. They pulled him up to face an enraged Castiel.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you? You ignorant little child!" Castiel spat.

Dean whimpered as one of the men pulled his arm behind his back and yelped when he dislocated his shoulder.

"I was nice," Castiel hissed. "So very nice to you, Dean!" He continued his rant as Dean was dropped to the dirt, clutching his shoulder. "I let you sleep in your own bed, washed you, dressed you! I even fed you! And this? This is how you respond?!" He shook his head. "Drag him inside," he said to the men standing behind Dean. "I think I need to teach him a little lesson."


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel teaches Dean a lesson  
> Warning: Torture (whipping and not the sexy kind - I am so cruel.)

“Get off me!” Dean struggled against the men. His arm still screaming in pain from where they’d reset his shoulder. It stung. It needed ice. They obliged, dropping him onto the cold stone floor.

“I think that there’s something you need to get your pretty little head around, Dean.”

Dean could see Castiel’s shoes. They were inches from his face. He briefly wondered whether Castiel would kick him?

“I own you. You are completely and totally mine. I could kill you and no one would know, no one would care! No one would look for your body, Dean. No one will look for you now you’ve gone missing. Not your little brother, Sammy. Not your father, John.” He paused. "No one.” He emphasized the last words.

His little speech had been effective. Dean suddenly realized how much danger he was really in. Fuck. “Shut up about Sammy,” Dean groaned.

Castiel’s other boot found its way to Dean’s chest, connecting with his ribs. Dean cried out in pain. He tried to roll away but Castiel just followed him, a smug smile on his face. “I think you’d do well to remember your place,” Castiel said quietly. Then he continued in a more authoritative tone. “Now, I’m going to punish you first for stealing that knife at dinner.” Castiel smirked upon seeing Dean’s expression. “Oh, you didn’t think I’d noticed?” He pulled the offending knife out of Dean’s back pocket.

Dean was now facing him. He briefly felt Castiel’s hand on his ass.

“Camera’s everywhere, Dean. No such thing as luck.” Castiel smiled again, that wolfish grin that made Dean want to dissolve into the ground. “Then there’s the matter of the nail, the bedroom door - very nice work by the way!” He ticked them off on his finger and then mockingly looked up as if trying to remember something. “Ah yes! And your little adventure in the forest.”

Dean gulped.

Castiel couched down on the ground, fiddling with the collar of Dean’s shirt and picking at the dirt on his jeans. "Look how you’ve spoiled the clothes I gave you!” he tutted. "I don’t think you deserve them.” He gestured to his guards who descended on Dean, holding him up under his arms while Castiel cut Dean’s clothes away with the knife Dean had worked so hard to steal. Dean blushed in humiliation as he was discarded naked to the floor again. He tried to get up but Castiel’s firm “No” told him he really shouldn’t bother.

“I want you to understand, Dean. That you deserve this. You brought it on yourself, really,” Castiel sighed. “You know that I'm right.” His tone was softer, gentler.

Dean knew what he was doing. Trying to make him feel guilty for trying to escape. Classic captor move. Dean sat up. Castiel’s face was inches from his own. “Fuck you.”

Castiel’s expression quickly went from disappointed parent to thundering cloud of rage. He slapped Dean hard, the sound echoing off the walls and inside of Dean’s skull. Then he grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him to one of the locked doors that Dean had tried during his escape attempt. Castiel was stronger than he looked. He was able to drag Dean one handed, leaving his other hand free to unlock the door and accompany his words, “leave us,” with an overly eccentric gesture towards his guards.

As he dragged Dean across the room, Dean didn’t even bother to fight. He knew that even if he did escape Castiel, there was no way he was going to outrun the other two meatheads. Castiel deposited him in the center of the room and Dean looked around. It was huge. Much bigger than it had appeared to be from the door, much bigger than Dean had expected. It wasn’t as nicely decorated as the rest of the house. A kind of half-finished kinky dungeon look, if Dean was honest. Not that he’d ever been to one of those, but… Okay, it was just a regular dungeon look. Large stone walls, cold as fuck. A wall covered in… What the fuck were they?

Castiel was gracing his hands over the whips and floggers ornamentally displayed on the wall adjacent to the door. He was making a show of choosing the one he would use on Dean. Dean scampered up onto his feet in fear. “What the actual fuck?”

“Will you ever learn?” Castiel sighed, exasperated.

Dean didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t run, but he wasn’t tied up. Indecision was killing him.

“Sit down,” Castiel said. “While you can.” He smirked as he finally made his decision. It didn’t look like a good decision. It looked like a painful decision.

Dean wasn’t sitting down. He was frozen. Was he actually going to whip him? Seriously?

Castiel squinted in annoyance when he saw Dean still standing. Then he smiled when he realized that the reason Dean hadn’t moved was not disobedience. It was out of fear. He placed the whip on the ground and grabbed a pair of handcuffs from a drawer in the same huge shelf the whips had been mounted on. He walked over to Dean who was now shivering with cold and trying desperately to cover his junk. He tried to moved Dean’s hand away in order to cuff him. Dean resisted and Castiel slapped him, hard. He did the cuffs up harshly, the little clicking noises coming quickly as they pinched Dean’s wrists, rage clouding his features. Castiel was so angry that Dean feared for his life. He roughly attached Dean’s handcuffs to something high above him. Dean had to stand on his tiptoes to not put too much strain on his wrists.

Castiel stepped back to admire his work. Dean could hear his footsteps on the stone.

Dean started shaking in anticipation of the first lash. It hit him hard and fast across his back and he jumped in pain. The fifth one had him almost yelping, but he decided to hold the steady silence. He was going to win this. After the fifteenth he was getting close to screaming. At some point he had definitely bitten through his lip. He was sure his back was bleeding. He could feel it dripping down his legs.

Castiel set the whip down and took a break. Dean could hear him sipping something and immediately felt unquenchably thirsty. “How long are you going to keep doing this?” he asked, his voice forgetting to obey him as his lungs contracted. The pain was still there, every time he breathed, every time his skin moved.

“Until you’re sorry,” Castiel said, taking another long gulp and then picking up his whip.

Dean braced himself. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not.” Castiel continued.

The first scream was an accident, everything hurt so much. Dean had stopped bothering to hold himself up and was hanging by his wrists. Cuts digging deep into his flesh. The whip continued to come down and Dean could feel every agonizing lash. Then it just hurt too much, too much to fight his body’s need for release. He’d counted thirty. Thirty lashes. He was sure he was bleeding. “Please!” he cried.

Castiel paused.

“Please, please stop?” he whispered. His voice sounded all too loud in the room previously filled with the sound of the whip whistling through air.

The whip came down again and Dean screamed unabashedly. Castiel must know how much this hurts! “Please!” He was begging now, whimpering.

“You haven’t learned!” Castiel answered him simply and continued.

“Wait!” Dean cried. Another fell. “Please! I’ll do anything if you just stop! I promise I won’t try and escape again! I promise!” Dean was crying. He felt the hot traitorous tears find pathways down his cheeks and drip onto his heaving chest.

Castiel tutted, preparing himself to deliver another lash.

“Please, sir! I promise I won’t escape again!” Dean whimpered.

He was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when Castiel pulled him down. He cradled the naked teen in his arms, telling him how good he was. Then he carried him up the stairs and into a room. He placed him face down on a soft bed and began to rub something into the wounds. At first it stung and Dean tried, feebly to get away. But Castiel held him fast, making soothing noises. Kissing the back of his neck and continuing to rub the stinging cream in. Eventually it subsided to a dull ache.

Castiel lay beside him and kissed his feverish cheek. “I didn’t want to have to do that Dean. Such a good boy!” he whispered into Dean’s ear.

Dean didn’t have the energy to cringe, or move away. He just accepted the praise. Castiel kissed his head and held his hand, lying with him as he slept.


	10. Supposed to hurt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smutty smut  
> It's non con tho so...watch out!

Dean woke in Castiel’s arms, in his bed. He tried to move but the heavy weight of a human limb kept him trapped.

"What are you doing?" Castiel said sleepily. He could feel his warm breath on his neck.

"I need the bathroom," Dean said innocently. Frozen. Terrified.

Castiel removed his arm from Dean's side, taking care not to touch his back. Dean was laying against Castiel's chest. Bandages crisscrossed Dean’s chest and he could feel them shift as he got up. It wasn't unbearably painful, just stung a little. He hobbled to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess. There were clear tear tracks across his cheeks, but the dark marks under his eyes were fading. He splashed some water on his face and relieved himself.

When he left the bathroom, he realized that he should have been making an escape plan. Castiel rolled out of the bed, disheveled and totally naked. His cock bouncing free from the confines of his pants. Dean realized he was staring when Castiel stopped rubbing his sleepy eyes and grinned. Dean blushed until he realized that he was also naked, save for the bandages.

"Good morning," Castiel deadpanned in his gravelly voice, heading into his bathroom, leaving the door open. Dean shrunk back as he passed. "You sleep in here now," Castiel said through a mouthful of toothpaste. He threw a toothbrush at Dean.

Huh, luxury, Dean thought, cautiously making his way to the bathroom. He watched Castiel as he brushed his teeth.

"What, no 'fuck you?’" Castiel smiled in the mirror and then spat into the sink. Dean shook his head, admiring the bristles on his toothbrush. "Excellent." Castiel smiled and kissed him on the cheek, heading back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Dean thought he might be sick. What was this psychopath playing at?

Castiel was dressing himself. Castiel was vulnerable! Dean studied the mirror. Unbreakable, shit. He looked into the shower. The en suite was tasteful, black tiles and a fancy free standing granite sink. No weapons though, apart from a pair of razors. But that would take work and the bathroom door was open.

Castiel popped his head in to check on Dean. He was adjusting the cuffs of his blue shirt. Dean thought it matched his eyes... and then shuddered in shame from the very idea of him even having an inkling of admiration for Castiel's eye color. Captor, prisoner, Dean reminded himself.

"I'm not giving you any clothes," Castiel said, moving Dean's toothbrush from the edge of the sink into a pot in the cupboard beneath. "You will behave yourself in my presence and do exactly as you're told or will find yourself enjoying another punishment. Understood?"

Dean swallowed and then nodded. Numb. And then a sudden burst of emotion took over and he finally processed what Castiel was implying. "Why can't I just go home?" he whispered, watching his hand trace over the bandages and then looking in the mirror to check it was all real. "I don't understand!"  
  
"What?" Castiel was a little annoyed.

Dean eyes reddened, threatening tears as he relived the events of the previous day. "Please, can I just go home? I won't tell anyone!" His voice broke half way through the sentence.

"You haven't learned a thing at all, have you? You're only alive because I like you!" Castiel growled, approaching with speed.

Dean whimpered as Castiel threw him at the bedroom wall, his face inches from Dean's own. Tears dripped down his cheeks. Castiel's breath on his face. Dean wanted to beg. He wanted to say “Please let me go.” He wanted to promise Castiel he wouldn't tell anyone. He just wanted to go home! See his brother. He'd skip town, leave the state! He'd leave the damn country if that's what it took! But he couldn't. He could barely breathe. His heartbeat was impossibly loud.

"Boy, just be thankful you're still breathing," Castiel whispered.

His voice was the only thing Dean could hear over his heartbeat in the quiet room. His lips gently touched Dean’s, his tongue lightly tracing Dean's lips. Dean didn't respond. He was terrified. Castiel kissed him with more vigor. Pushing him against the wall, causing him to gasp with pain at the pressure on his back. Castiel took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into Dean's mouth. Dean just wanted it to stop.

"Get on the bed." Castiel was undoing his belt.

Dean scampered over to the bed, thankful Castiel had let him go from their crushing embrace. Trying not to think about what might happen next. He heard the sound of Castiel's fly and his footsteps. Dean watched him approach, eyes wide with fear.

"Hands and knees, Dean."

Dean did as he was told with trepidation, sinking into the soft mattress.

"Good boy," Castiel growled, opening a cupboard and discarding his shirt. Dean was facing away from him and all he could see was the shirt floating to the ground. "Stay," he said as Dean shook in dread. He heard the cap of a bottle pop open, and then felt Castiel's weight on the bed. He was kneeling behind him and Dean felt his hands trace the shapes of Dean's hips. Dean shivered. "Shh," Castiel soothed, rubbing his sides. "Good, so good." He kissed the base of Dean's spine and ran his finger along the cleft of Dean's ass. Dean tried to squirm away, but Castiel's other hand dug into his hip. He was sure there would be bruises. "I wanted to see your face, but you made me punish you and I don't want this to hurt too badly. Considering it's your first time."

Too badly? Dean thought, is this going to hurt? "Is this going to hurt? You don't have to do this,” Dean said timidly.

Castiel's finger pushed against his rim and he shuddered. It didn't hurt. He felt Castiel's finger moving inside of him, searching for something. "Please don't do this," Dean whispered.

Castiel soothed him with a firm hand on the undamaged part of his back.

He found it.

"Oh fuck," Dean whispered.

"Language," Castiel warned, continuing the movement.

Dean whined a little. He could practically feel Castiel smiling at his response. "Please don't do this! Please, this is..." Dean didn't want to say it, he didn't want to be the victim.

"Shh," Castiel said. "I'm going to make it good." He said it comfortingly, but it didn't stop Dean from sobbing. He added another finger, coating Dean's insides in a cold substance. Dean moaned as Castiel hit that spot again and he felt his dick begin to betray him. He was not going to get hard. He wasn't! He was... Oh shit.

Dean didn't know how many fingers Castiel had in his ass anymore. He was bucking with the movement, desperate for friction when he felt the blunt head of Castiel's dick at his entrance. "Please, I…!"

"I know," Castiel whispered. Moaning as he entered Dean's tight heat. "So good for me Dean. So good!"  
  
Dean just cried softly as Castiel began to gently push in and out of him, falling to his elbows as he felt Castiel's body against his. This was something so special, so pure and so... his. And Castiel was just taking it. He sobbed. This was wrong, it wasn't fair!

Castiel took it slow, tenderly stroking Dean in rhythm with his thrusts. "Good boy," he breathed. "You're perfect, Dean!" He kissed the nape of Dean's neck, his chest crushing against Dean's damaged back. Dean cried out in pain, and Castiel immediately retracted. "Sorry," he muttered.

It took so long, Dean was physically shaking when Castiel finally stopped and finished him with his hand.

"Soon, you'll be able to come from just my dick. Would you like that Dean?" Castiel said proudly, lying him on his side, facing Castiel.

He kissed him again. Dean closed his eyes. He had no tears left to cry.

"Hmm?" Castiel added when Dean didn't reply.

Dean just sobbed and buried his face into the pillow, recklessly moving away from Castiel.

Castiel got up and headed for a shower.

Dean could feel his come leaking out of his ass and cried again at the unfairness of it all. Pillow damp with miserable tears.

Castiel returned and Dean put up little argument when he rubbed the stinging cream into his wounds. He needed something to hurt. Anything to bring the pain it was supposed to.


	11. Chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning; NON CON SMUTTTITY SMUT

Dean hadn't spoken in a while. There was nothing to say.

Since that morning, Castiel had only returned at night, preferring to bring himself to orgasm in the shower while Dean recovered from his wounds. He must think that Dean was ugly when he was broken. Dean could work with that. After his evening shower, he'd wrap Dean around him like a human pillow and fall asleep. Dean watched the rise and fall of his chest, uneasy in his presence, even when he was asleep. Castiel never commented on Dean's discomfort, and Dean didn't mention it for fear of punishment.

When Castiel woke up, Dean would pretend to sleep in and only when he'd left would Dean begin his routine. Stretches, one hundred. Forty push-ups, forty sit-ups. Break. Stretch, jog on the spot. Two hundred jumping jacks. Then he'd shower and brush his teeth. And then he'd plan. He needed to escape this nightmare!

He'd collected an assortment of possible weapons, and an artillery in his head. But where did Castiel keep his gun? Where did Castiel keep his spare razors? He would spend hours of every day scouring the room for anything, anything at all. And then meticulously return everything he'd moved in his searching to its previous position.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner were delivered. That was how he kept track of the time. There was no clock in Castiel's room. He did consider just killing himself, but who would care for Sammy? Far better to survive and escape.

Dean wasn't sure what Castiel thought he was doing. Sleeping off his injury, he supposed. But he knew the truce wouldn't last long. So he wasn't surprised when Castiel had decided to wake him up this morning instead of allowing him to sleep. "Wake up,” he said softly, kissing Dean's temple.

Dean blinked his eyes open.

"Roll over so I can check your back."

Weird, usually the cream was a nighttime ritual. He did as he was asked with little hesitation. If Castiel wanted to hurt him, there was nothing he could do about it.

"Excellent!" Castiel ran his hand over the fully healed and unblemished skin. Dean hadn't noticed. He’d refused to look at himself in the mirror. "You're a fast healer, Dean. Barely a week!" He kissed the apex of Dean's shoulder blades.

Dean tensed in fear. He was healed. Was his injury protecting him from other kinds of pain? He squirmed under Castiel feeling suddenly vulnerable.

"Don't worry, I'm not doing that now. Let's have some breakfast." Castiel jumped out of bed and into the shower. Dean heard him humming jovially as the water steamed up the mirror he could just see though the open door.

When Castiel emerged he began to root though a drawer, instructing Dean to take a shower and then put on the pair of sweatpants and threadbare t-shirt he handed him. Dean nodded and did as he was asked.  
   
“Want to watch a movie?"

Why was he being so nice? It didn't make sense. "Yeah, uh, that'd be great, actually. I've been bored out of my mind."

Castiel raised an eyebrow but allowed Dean's comment to pass, forgiving his lack of title. At least he was talking. He led Dean down to the living room. "Popcorn?" Castiel inquired, handing Dean the controller.

"Yes, please." Dean pressed the on button and watched the huge TV flicker to life. Castiel's living room was huge, and surprising modern, with giant windows lining one wall and a squishy green sofa opposite the television that could easily double for a billboard. He wiggled his toes in the sheepskin rug. It was the news. Was he allowed to watch the news? Castiel was out of the room, would he get in trouble?

He didn't have much time to think before an unflattering picture of him appeared on the screen. "The brother and close friend of missing eighteen-year-old Dean Winchester have made a desperate plea to anyone who knows anything about his disappearance to come forward to the police."

It cut to a heartbreaking image of Sam, tears dripping down his cheeks. "Please, whoever you are, if you know anything about Dean? Even if it seems really small or insignificant? Please call. I just want my big brother back!"

Bobby stepped into the frame and pulled Sam into his arms. "Stay strong, Dean,” he said gruffly.

Dean felt his heart sink in his chest. At least Sammy was safe.

"I got the popcorn," Castiel announced, sauntering back into the room. Dean quickly switched channels.

"Since the elephant passed, this family has been visiting it in the anniversary of its death, only stopping when the river over flowed and prevented them from following their usual path. This shows..."

"Are you crying?" Castiel jumped from one side of the sofa to the other, falling down beside Dean.

"Ah, come on!" Dean wiped the tears. "They're elephants in mourning!"

Castiel laughed and offered him the bowl.

They finished the documentary and Dean moved on to another film. Castiel was uncomfortably close now. "Do you know what I'd like, Dean?" Castiel popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, his lips forming an O around it.

"No...?" Dean said cautiously, trying to pretend he was interested in the movie.

"Seeing as you're all healed up, you've probably got your libido back. And what I'd really like, Dean, is for you to get down on your pretty little knees and open your pretty little mouth and stretch your pretty little pink lips around my dick.”

Castiel traced a hand up Dean's thigh and Dean shuddered in discomfort. "Please, I really, I just... Please you don't have to... I'm begging you!" Dean stuttered, crushing the popcorn between his fingers.

Castiel took it out of his hands and pushed him into the floor. "Be a good boy,” he warned, pulling Dean towards him by his shirt and pulling down his own sweat pants to expose his dick.

Dean backed away in fear, his eyes wide.

"Dean?" Castiel growled, standing to chase him.

Dean continued to crawl backwards. Castiel leaned down and grabbed Dean's wrists in his hands. Almost on instinct, Dean responded the way his father had taught him, twisting his wrists to free himself and then pushing his attacker in the chest, sending him staggering backwards.

White hot rage crossed Castiel's face and he gripped the back of Dean's head, bringing him closer to his crotch.

"No!" Dean whimpered, pushing against Castiel's thighs.

"Stop fighting me!" Castiel said through gritted teeth.

Dean held his mouth firmly closed as Castiel's dick came within inches of his face. Then Dean pulled Castiel towards him, sending them both toppling backwards and scrabbled for freedom. Unfortunately for him, Castiel quickly recovered from the drop and pounced on him. Dean kneed him in the balls, but wasn't able to land a decent strike because Castiel was so fast, pulling his left arm behind his back in a vice tight grip. "Do you want me to break this?" he growled.

Dean frantically shook his head. "No," he stuttered.

Castiel pulled him with one hand in his hair to the sofa, sitting down and trapping Dean underneath his legs and between his thighs. Dean struggled a little and then stopped. Castiel crossed his arms and watched the fight. "Are you quite finished?"

Dean dropped his head in shame.

"Kiss me better, or we can have a re-run of your previous punishment. I really don't mind, your choice Dean."

Dean shuddered. He stared pointedly at Castiel's crotch. It couldn't be that bad... Could it? Hang on a moment, Dean saw a major flaw in his plan. Castiel wasn't even hard!

"Five... Four…"

Dean took a deep breath, praying to anyone that was listening for Sam to get here quick.

"Three... Two…"

Dean plunged his face into Castiel’s crotch and waited for a reaction.

Castiel pulled his sweat pants down a little more and reached for the remote. "Hold me in your mouth,” he instructed. "Just keep me soft."

"How long for?" Dean swallowed nervously.

Castiel scowled. "Excuse me?"

"How long for, sir?"

"As long as I see fit," Castiel replied, going back to the movie.

Dean did as he was asked and tried not to do anything that would piss Castiel off further. Including swallowing. He was drooling like an infant. His jaw was aching. And no matter how soft the rug was, all he wanted was to take some pressure off his knees.

Castiel thrusted shallowly into his mouth and moaned when Dean reflexively swallowed. "Dean?” he groaned. "Blow me."

It was barely a whisper, but Dean heard it. He bobbed his head on Castiel dick, alternating between swallowing and sucking at the head. He'd had it in his mouth for the last hour. He had no dignity left to preserve. He just wanted to get Castiel off as soon as possible and be done with this. He pressed his tongue to the underside of Castiel's cock and hummed around the shaft, earning a moan from Castiel. "You're very good at this,” he said in his gravelly voice. His hand lacing in Dean's hair. "Oh my god, Dean,” he moaned. Thrusting into Dean's mouth again, this time with a little more energy. Dean gagged around his length and Castiel soothed him. "Shh, S'okay. You're being so good for me, Dean!"

Dean didn't want to admit it, but the way Castiel praised him made him feel okay, good almost.

"Perfect for me, Dean."

Dean shivered, how was this having such an effect on him?

Castiel noticed and grinned, closing his eyes in ecstasy. "I was right, your pretty little mouth was made for sucking cock. Ah…!" Castiel began to pant.

Dean felt his hand drifting to his own half-mast erection. No! He scolded himself. No, this is wrong! He continued to remind himself as he sucked hard on Castiel's dick and watched him come. Castiel's hand drifting to his cheek and running though his hair as he basked in the afterglow. "Swallow,” he instructed. Dean did as he was told, maintaining eye contact. "Good boy." He pulled Dean onto his lap and kissed along his ear, nibbling at the edge and running his fingers though his hair. He turned Dean's face towards him and kissed him hungrily on the mouth, relishing the taste of his own release. "I think you enjoyed that, didn't you Dean?" he whispered, his free hand finding its way to Dean's own, now prominent erection.

Castiel kissed him again, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth while his hand snuck into the sweatpants and fondled his balls and stroked his hard member. Dean whined in his captor’s mouth. "Shh, you did good. Let me." Castiel bit his lip as Dean tried to squirm away. "If you behave yourself I'll even let you come."

Dean's balls suddenly felt heavy with the week of denied orgasm. He didn't feel anywhere near comfortable enough with jacking off in Castiel's shower. He really wanted to come. Not much further to fall, he reminded himself sarcastically. Who's going to judge him?

Castiel pushed him off his lap and laid his head gently on the arm rest. "Behave,” he warned, pulling Dean's shirt up and kissing his way from his collar bones down past his nipples. He followed Dean's happy trail right down to the base of his cock, where he licked a cool circle. Dean inhaled sharply as Castiel's wandering hands began to tease his nipples and Castiel giggled in response. "Sensitive?" He grinned up at Dean, whose shirt hand fallen back down to cover Castiel's hands and was staring at him in awe.

Castiel took Dean's length inside of his mouth and began to suck. Dean bucked into the movement as Castiel's tongue created new shapes of pleasure. Blood rushing to his dick until he was impossibly hard. Castiel tentatively licked his slit, his hands resting on Dean's abdomen and lower back before plunging him into his throat. Dean grunted in surprise and then moaned in pleasure. Castiel swallowed once and Dean was coming hard down his throat. "Fuck, Cas! Fuck!” he panted.

"Language." Castiel smirked, wiping a stray droplet of come off with a finger and then sucking the digit into his mouth.

"Sorry," Dean said breathlessly.

"Sorry, what, Dean?" Castiel pulled Dean's pants up and rose from the sofa. Dean was completely wrecked and Cas didn't even sport a bead of sweat. No fair!

"Sorry, sir," Dean said, his eyes downcast.

"Fantastic. Why don't we have some lunch? Are you hungry Dean?"

"Yes sir," Dean answered and so did his stomach. Castiel chuckled and switched off the TV.


	12. Twelve

Every time he thought about it he thought he was going to be physically sick. How could he have given up like that? Let... that man, that creature, do that to him! Dean shuddered. He was going to throw up.

Castiel emerged from his evening shower to see Dean perched on the edge of the bed, his head firmly planted in his hands. "Dean?" He narrowed his eyes in concern, stopping in the doorway.

"Get away from me," Dean whispered as Castiel got closer, only a towel protecting Dean from his nudity. Dean himself was wrapped in cotton sheets, now sobbing softly.

"We've had this conversation," Castiel sighed, preparing himself for another attempt to force Dean into submission. Twice in one day!

Dean just whimpered in fear. "Please, just get away from me!" he said, scampering back onto the other side of the bed.

Castiel followed him easily. Climbing onto the bed and pulling the shivering teen into his damp arms. Dean put up no resistance. "Talk to me darling." His kindness was new. His warm hand stroked Dean's hair soothingly.

Dean choked on a sob at his sudden change in demeanor. Talk to him! What was Dean supposed to say? Castiel was the bad guy, right?

"Tell me what's wrong." He planted an innocent, almost loving, kiss on Dean's temple as he coaxed him closer to his chest.

Once Dean was more comfortably seated in the older man's lap he began to speak. "I don't understand why you're doing this to me."

Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean's quiet remark, preparing to assert himself once again. Then Dean closed his eyes and added, "I don't understand why I like it." Shame reddening his cheeks as he buried his face into Castiel's shoulder. "I'm not supposed to like it!"

"Oh, Dean!" Castiel stroked his back soothingly. "It's okay for you to like what I do to you."

"How can it be?" Dean cried. "How can any of this be right?"

"Because I said so," Castiel growled at his outburst and Dean winced in response.

"I'm sorry," Dean said softly.

"It's okay, Dean. I know you're confused." Castiel resumed his stroking, clever hands massaging his shoulders and pulling him in between Castiel's legs in a parody of a lover's embrace.

Castiel was not his lover.

"I love you,” he muttered into Dean's hair as Dean tensed against him. "Tell me you love me too, Dean,” he added after a hopeful pause.

"I…" Dean stumbled over his words, fearing Castiel's reaction if he did not reciprocate.

"Come on, Dean." He pulled Dean to face him with firm hands on Dean's shoulders. "Tell me you love me!" His brilliant blue eyes searching Dean's own.

"I…"

"Say it!" he commanded, shaking Dean a little. "Come on! 'I love you, sir!'" he mimicked. "Say it!"

"I…" Dean felt tears gathering in his eyes. Castiel shook him again. Suddenly Dean felt naked. Not just physically, but as if his soul was laid bare. He didn't love Castiel. But if he didn't lie, then Castiel would hurt him. A pesky tear slithered across his cheek. Make it convincing. Please, God, let it be convincing. "I love you, sir," he stuttered. "I love you so much!" He shivered in Castiel's grasp. He was terrified.

Suddenly the hopeful emotion fell from Castiel's face. Dean's stomach dropped and his eyes widened. "You're lying,” he stated simply.

"No!" Dean cried desperately, his hands rushing up to cup Castiel's face. Pulling the hair out of his eyes. "I love you! I love you so much and..." And what? Dean panicked, colliding his lips with Castiel's in the hope it would bring him forgiveness.

Castiel accepted. Clashing their lips together was brutal, but Castiel softened it with passion and something Dean identified as adoration. His stomach lurched at the thought. He pushed Dean onto his back, exposing his hip bones and a few tiny curls of blonde hair. Then he dropped the towel from his own body, revealing his shameless nudity. He kissed Dean with love, gently and softly caressing Dean's lips with his own. "Say it again,” he whispered, his breath catching on Dean's lips.

"I love you," Dean said, relieved his plan was working.

"No," Castiel said, pulling back a little. "Say it like you did before,” he prompted.

"I love you, sir," Dean said, watching Castiel's lips as he talked.

"Good boy," Castiel groaned, returning to the kiss with passion. Dean could feel his smile, but he couldn't bring himself to return it. Castiel's hand found its way to his hips and traced patterns just above the bone. Dean's hands stayed glued to Castiel's shoulders, afraid to venture.

"Don't be frightened, Dean." Castiel read his mind. Eyes still closed as his fingertips grazed lower. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean snorted. Not going to hurt him! When he opened his eyes he saw that Castiel's previous expression had darkened considerably. "Why are you laughing?" he asked bitterly.

"I'm sorry!" Dean's eyes widened with fear.

His brow furrowed. "You don't have to be afraid of me." He traced Dean's cheekbone and Dean winced. Castiel immediately withdrew his hand and stared at his fingertips, as if they were to blame for ruining his time with Dean. He pondered them for a while, still straddling Dean, with his ass pressed into Dean's crotch and his thighs trapping the captive between his legs. Dean daren't struggle or ask to move. "Are you afraid of me Dean? At first, I wanted you to be afraid. But now..." He seemed lost in thought. Dean didn't want to interrupt. "Are you afraid of me, Dean?" He repeated the question, bringing his fingers forward to caress but stopping a few inches short from Dean's face.

Dean breathed heavily.

"Answer the question!” he commanded.

"Yes!" Dean said quickly, fearing Castiel's response.

He just seemed amused. "Do you love me, Dean?" he pondered.

"Yes! I love you so much, Sir!" Dean begged.

"If you love me, you'll give me something."

What was left to take? "Yes, sir." Dean resigned himself to his fate. "Anything."

"Anything?" Castiel raised his eyebrows. He seemed surprised. He traced his hands over Dean's biceps and abs as he considered it. "Anything.,” he said again, as if confirming it to himself. He smiled. His clever hands dropped below Dean's waist and began to massage the tops of Dean's thighs. "Anything,” he repeated in his gruff voice. "Any-thing!" Sing-song now. Jovial. "I want..." He tilted his head comically. "What do I want?" He furrowed his brow. His finger rested against his jaw as he grinned maliciously at Dean. "I want to take you like this."

Dean swallowed nervously.

"On your back." He started to stroke Dean's arms. "But!" He stopped, gently pinching Dean's nipples and earning a startled gasp. "First, I want you to beg for it." He pulled the sheet lower, exposing Dean's cock which he eyed hungrily. "Tell me how much you want me, Dean."

"Please!" Dean begged to be released from this prison. He just wanted to go home.

"You'll have to try a little harder than that!" Castiel pouted, misinterpreting Dean's plea for freedom as one for satisfaction.

"Wait! Stop! I... I need the bathroom." Dean tried desperately to escape. Any excuse. Anything, there had to be a way to avoid this!

Anger crossed Castiel's face, then disappointment and finally resigned annoyance. "Be quick, and clean yourself properly afterwards." He clambered off of Dean, sitting huffily on the bed and folding his towel. Dean hadn't moved. "Go!" he said aggressively.

Dean jumped for his position on the bed and rushed to the bathroom, abandoning the sheet. Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Dean was panicking. His heart rate racing. He had to escape! He had closed the bathroom door behind him, but there were no windows. No weapons. He nervously spun, searching for something, anything! A towel rail hung accusingly on the wall. Perhaps he could rattle it loose? He glanced about himself for no particular reason and then tried to unscrew the rail.

"What's taking so long?!" He heard Castiel get up from the bed and pad over towards the bathroom door. He had seconds.

Almost! Almost! The fear and desperation churned in his stomach. Finally the rail fell loose. He pried it from the wall just as Castiel returned to the bed. He gingerly opened the door, hiding his arm length weapon behind him as he approached Castiel, who was reading something on his phone.

"What took you so long?" Castiel began to look up but Dean was fast, striking him in the temple with his weapon. He was out like a light.  
   
Dean had dressed himself in a shirt he'd found on the floor and nothing else. It seemed that Castiel's other clothes were nowhere to be found without alerting the guards. He quickly fled from the bedroom and into another part of the house, forgoing the kitchen and nature tour, knowing where, and what, that got him last time. He soon found a maze of reception rooms, a study and a huge library filled with wonderful hiding places, but no pistol. And no knife. The kitchen door was locked. Nothing to protect him but his stolen towel rail. He heard footsteps and dived under a desk.

"De-an!" a sing-song voice tempted him from the desk. "De-an!" it lured. It was Castiel, an ice pack pressed to his aching temple, dressed in a navy t-shirt and sweat pants. "Come out, come out wherever you are!" he sang playfully, removing a few books from the shelf and looking under another desk. "If you wanted to play hide and seek you should've just said so,” he giggled, replacing the books. "De-an!" he called again as he recessed from the library, his terrifying voice growing quieter as it was absorbed by the house.

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sank into a more comfortable posture. He needed a better hiding place. After he'd psyched himself up, he removed himself from the desk and cautiously made his way through the door and into the dining room. Then, listening carefully for any kind of noise, he crept up the stairs and across into one of the many guest rooms, where he crawled under the bed and hid. The sheets which hung from the side of the bed would cover him from Castiel's immediate scope of the room.

"You can't hide forever,” he heard Castiel call from another part of the house. "I will find you!" He was loading a gun, the unmistakable sound echoing through the corridors. "You have ten seconds to come here. Or, when I find you...?" He paused. Dean heard the safely being disengaged. "You don't need to be able to walk for me to enjoy myself, Dean."

Dean shuddered.

"Ten." Should he go? Would Castiel really do it?

"Nine." He was getting closer.

"Eight,” he said though the doorway of the guest room, and then moved on.

"Six." What happened to seven?!

"Five." His slow and sure footsteps were ebbing away. Dean pulled his shaky frame out from underneath the bed.

"Four." He began to head quickly up the corridor. Castiel paused, spinning to see him and smirking.

"Three." He shrugged and aimed the gun. Dean was going to have to run.

"Two." He was so close! "Please!" he called as he ran towards his captor.

"One." He threw himself at Castiel's feet, preparing to beg for forgiveness.

He jumped as Castiel discharged a bullet. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where would I be without my amazing beta @funtimewriter


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok.  
> I'm sorry this took so long!! I'm a horrible person.  
> So, to avoid leaving you all on a cliff hanger *winces* sorry...  
> Here's the next part but not the full next part. If that makes any sense? 
> 
> Anyway. Voila!  
> Enjoy!  
> It would be super helpful if you could comment some ideas for Dean's punishment , I have a couple of ideas but I'm curious as to how twisted my readers really are.

"Did you know," Castiel taunted, while Dean whimpered at the sound of the safety being put back on, "that there are at least eight different places on your body I could aim for that would cause indescribable pain and paralysis? That you'd survive but never fully recover from?" He paused, crouching down to Dean's level. "Like here." He pushed the muzzle of the gun into Dean's shoulder. Dean sobbed at the touch of the cold metal through the fabric of the thin white shirt, chilling his bare skin.

When Castiel retracted the gun, Dean's eyes immediately fell to the floor in a mixture of surrender, submission, and disbelief. Fixating in cold shock on the bullet hole in the carpeted hallway floor beside him.

"Now I could have shot you, but I chose not to," Castiel continued. “How strange! What a kindness I have permitted you!" Castiel said, pressing the barrel underneath Dean's chin, forcing him to face his captor. He trailed the gun around Dean's jaw, occasionally dipping into Dean's collarbone and touching the taut tendons in his neck.

Dean dared not move. He was quivering with all-consuming fear. It didn't matter what his father would think, Castiel was going to kill him!

"How easy would it be for you to fight me if you couldn't move your arm, Dean? How easy would it be to run if you were trapped in your bed with me as your only form of entertainment, your only contact with the world beyond those four walls?" He paused and then grinned. "Not that I'm not already!" Castiel chuckled darkly, stopping for a little while, as if pondering something. "I wonder what it would be like to fuck someone who couldn't move their limbs? Someone who didn't have any limbs? Wounds get infected we might have to amputate,” he mused, sounding each syllable out with surgical accuracy, causing chills to cascade down Dean's spine. He was totally rooted to the ground.

Castiel smiled, turning the gun in his hands. "It would be far easier to keep you clean and you'd be much better behaved. You wouldn't be able to do anything except roll around in your own filth. Is that what you want?"

Dean didn't answer. He couldn't. He choked on the words as they formed and Castiel took this to be a negative, smiling at the effect he was having on the terrified teen. Although the gun was no longer pointed at Dean, he still felt threatened. As if Castiel had, in fact, shot him and he was now paralyzed, bleeding out on the floor while Castiel gloated over his kill. "God, please, Castiel, sir, I'm so fucking sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, please!" He groveled at Castiel's feet when he finally regained the ability to speak. His voice was hoarse.

"Look what you've done! Are you fucking proud of yourself!?" Castiel's features were stormy, brow furrowed in anger as he shouted down at his whimpering captive.

"Please, I..!"

"Silence!" Castiel boomed, shooting the wall of the corridor.

Dean froze, all his instincts telling him to bolt. But he knew it was best if he just accepted the consequences. He felt the sound reverberate in his eyes, dim whistling like that of a distant train.

"Haha! I know just the thing." Castiel smile was malicious as he used the muzzle of the gun to tilt Dean's head towards himself. "I could chain you up, outfit you in a fetching bulletproof vest, shoot you as many times as I please! Or perhaps I could entertain the notion of rubber bullets?" He tilted his head to the side, removing the gun as he considered the option. Then he tucked it back into the waistband of his sweatpants and dropped down to kneel with one knee against the floor. maintaining his position of power above Dean, who was covering before him. "However, they'd only cause bruising and perhaps broken ribs,” he whispered, his face still twisted in a hideous grin.

Dean felt another tear worm its way down his reddened cheek. Castiel was kneeling so close to him that he swiped it away with his thumb and touched his fingertip to his lips. Dean's eyes widened with fear as Castiel leaned even closer, his forehead touching Dean's soft hair. "It's like your trying to be punished,” he said, sadly. "Is that what you want, Dean? Is that why you did this? What did you think you were going to achieve? Did you think I'd be stupid enough to hide weapons in the house? Hmm?"

Dean stared down at the floor in shame, hunching his shoulders to make himself look smaller, feeling the weight of Castiel's head shift.

"Dean," Castiel prompted, leaning back onto his heels. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Castiel growled, gripping Dean's jaw tightly and forcing him to look him in the eye. "Of all the people I could have chosen, I had to chance upon a disobedient little shit like you! You're lucky I allow you to breathe!"

Dean felt a steady stream of tears begin to fall and he felt himself choking on air.

Castiel, upon seeing Dean struggle to maintain his composure, dropped fully back and sat on the floor. Pulling Dean into his lap, he held Dean's head close to his chest, feeling the young man's tears seep into his t-shirt and dampen the material. He rubbed soothing circles into the exposed skin of Dean's lower back as he comforted the sobbing man. "You brought this on yourself, little one.” Castiel whispered sadly into Dean's soft hair.

Dean sniffed loudly in response, latching onto Castiel's t-shirt. They sat like that for a little while until Dean had finished crying and the dampness had begun to fade. When Dean said, “Are you going to punish me?"

"Do you think you deserve to be punished? I'd never hurt you unless you deserved it, little one,” Castiel replied, carding his hand through Dean's hair.

"D-Does that…" Dean stammered, still struggling to form coherent sentences and hiccupping.

"Yeah. I think I should. Come on,” he said, allowing Dean to crawl out of his lap and helping him up from the floor, once standing himself. He gently ran his hands through Dean's hair, and his thumbs across Dean's reddened, tear stained cheeks. "We'll both feel better,” he assured Dean as he took his hand and allowed him to willingly follow Castiel down the hallway into a room Dean had never seen before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys xx  
> :)


	14. Wax

Dean was incredibly confused.  This didn't look like the sort of place an estranged serial killer would torture his captives into submission!  Dean mentally scolded himself.  That wasn't what this was about, this was an apology!  He'd failed Castiel utterly and totally and he needed - he wanted - to repent.  
   
It was an office, a smart one, but an office nonetheless.  A beautiful dark wood writing desk that stood parallel to the door dominated the room and Dean's eyes were immediately drawn to the excellent craftsmanship.  Man, he bet that writing desk had been expensive!  Judging from the intricate carvings, very.  
   
Castiel pulled the red leather chair out from behind it and placed it to the other side of the room.  He carried it as if it was weightless and Dean swallowed dryly at the show of muscle bulging through his skin in his short sleeve shirt.  Castiel then returned the piles of books and messy papers that adorned it into their respective places on the bookshelves surrounding them.  Pausing to admire his work for a fleeting moment, he then motioned for Dean to come towards him.  When Dean was close enough, Castiel used his firm hands and strong arms to lift him at the waist and gently set him on the desk.  The wood was cold on his bare ass and Dean was reminded that, unlike Castiel, he was only wearing a dirty white dress shirt.  A dirty white dress shirt that smelled of Castiel.  
   
Castiel turned to a small, barely perceivable drawer in one of the cuboards beside the desk, with the implicit command that Dean stay put hanging in the still air.  He retrieved a burgundy candle, setting it on the desk next to Dean.  Dean knew better than to touch.  Castiel turned to the fireplace, having retrieved the matches he kept on the mantelpiece.  Dean watched his careful and measured movements as he lit the fire, coaxing the red flames into life, and then grabbing for the candle and lighting it in the flames.  
   
The birth of the fire brought more light to the shady room.  Castiel hadn't bothered to turn on the light and the curtains were half closed.  The flickering flames somehow added to the atmosphere of the moment as Castiel silently pushed him down onto the desk, exposing his unclothed cock, and swiveled him around so that his head was away from the fire and his feet were being gently warmed.  Dean obeyed without argument, utterly pliable in Castiel’s capable hands.  He deserved this, he reminded himself.  
   
Castiel set the candle in a holder on the shelf and Dean watched with trepidation as he began to unbutton Dean's shirt.  "Castiel...?" Dean said uncertainly.  
   
"Shh," he soothed, allowing Dean to shuffle a little to free the shirt from his back, then settling him with a firm hand to his now naked torso.  Dean was utterly nude and despite the warmth of the fire, he was shivering, perhaps not with cold but with the humiliation of it all.  
   
Castiel stepped away and returned, this time with the candle in his right hand.  Dean tilted his head uncomfortably to watch and was rewarded with a light tap on his forehead indicating that he might find the celling a more appropriate place to look.  He was studying the celling when the first drips of agonizingly hot wax were dripped onto his skin.  It felt like Castiel had cut into him with a sharp knife.  He immediately recoiled from the pain, pulling his knees up to protect himself and letting out an undignified gasp.  Castiel gently pushed his legs back down and Dean obeyed.  
   
The next puddle formed just below his right nipple and he flinched.  Castiel pushed him a little further up the desk and pushed his thighs apart, dribbling the wax along his abdomen, which spasmed with pain.  Thankfully avoiding his genitals, and creating patterns on his thighs.  Dean couldn't stop shaking and he felt himself growing hard at the sensations.  
   
"You didn't tell me you were a masochist," Castiel commented conversationally.  
   
"What?"  Dean inhaled sharply as Castiel allowed the hot wax to fall directly on his left nipple.  
   
"Hush," Castiel chastened.  "I bet you did this because you want to be punished!” he remarked, dipping his finger into the cooling wax and dragging it across Dean's skin as it hardened.  Dean wanted to squirm away, but he didn't want to upset Castiel and incur further punishment.  "You didn't even really try to escape, did you darling?  You just hid!  You knew I would find you.  You wanted to stay.  You know this is where you belong."  
   
"No!" Dean whispered in fear.  
   
"Don't lie, Dean.  It's unbecoming.  The only person your deceiving is yourself, and you're even failing at that.  You know I'm right."  This pool formed right over his heart.  "I own you.  You're mine.  You're in denial, my little masochist.  My little painslut,” he whispered seductively, licking a cool stripe along Dean's cheekbone and then dipping into Dean's mouth.  Dean submitted, unresponsive to Castiel's actions.  "I was going to save this..."  Castiel placed the candle back in its holder and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.  
   
His breath hitched when he heard Castiel pull something metallic out of its holster and rest it on something else with a gentle clang.  What was he doing?  Dean shouldn't look.  He shouldn't!  He focused unyielding on the ceiling above him.  Don't look!  
   
"I think you'll like it,” Castiel said, settling between Dean's thighs and pulling him forward and up so that he was sitting on the edge of the desk with his legs wrapped around Castiel's waist.  Castiel threaded his fingers into the hair at the top of Dean's neck and pulled him upwards for a crushing kiss.  Dominance seeping into Dean's mouth.  He could practically taste Castiel's predatory grin.  "Everyone will know you're mine."  
   
He couldn't look.  He didn't want to know what Castiel had in mind.  He maintained eye contact with his captor, with his predator, and he had never before felt so much like prey.  Castiel's wolfish grin corrupted his innocent blue eyes and Dean searched for any hint of remorse or humanity within them.  But even in the depths of Castiel's sky blue ocean he saw only psychotic delight.  "Everyone will know I'm yours?" Dean repeated the mantra.  
   
"Yes.  Mine."  Castiel ran his fingers across Dean's fingers and kissed the top of his head.  
   
Dean's eyes were briefly distracted by a bright white light from nearby the fireplace.  
   
"Lie back," Castiel instructed.  "This will hurt, but I know you'll like it."  
   
That was when Dean saw it.  A brand.  Castiel was going to brand him.  The sound he had heard was Castiel placing the end with the image into the white hot fire to heat up.  Castiel was going to brand him!  It didn't sink in, it wouldn't compute.  He laid back numbly on the desk as Castiel retrieved the implement.  
   
"Where shall we put it, baby?" Castiel asked.  Dean winced as Castiel drummed his fingers on Dean's chest, expecting the brand.  "Here?" he asked, tracing a circle around Dean's hip.  "Here?" he suggested, pushing his palm flat against Dean's abdomen, just above his cock.   
   
Dean shuddered in displeasure.  
   
"You're right.  It needs to be more..."  Castiel paused, looking for the word.  "Personal."  He rested his head in his hand, studying both the brand and the shaking man before him.  "I've got it!"  Dean whipped his head around to see Castiel's expression of utter delight.  "Don't move."  His voice became suddenly deeper as he headed to the right side of Dean, picking off some of the wax with his sharp fingernails.  Dean whimpered in discomfort, to which Castiel merely chuckled.  "If you think this is painful?  Be still," he reminded Dean as he lined the brand with his chest.   
   
Dean was quivering in terror.  
   
He brought the brand to touch Dean's chest, and from the moment it made contact, Dean was screaming and trying to move away.  It burned, it burned so bad!  He could feel his skin sizzling, smell human flesh.  He thought he might vomit.  He couldn’t form words, only scream and struggle against Castiel, who, predicting he might find it difficult to obey, was now sitting on his chest holding him to the table with his free hand.  Dean brought the back of his head down hard on the table and thrashed about to relieve himself from the agony.  
   
Finally, it was over.  But the pain didn't stop.  He didn't realize he was crying until Castiel had sat him up and pulled him into his arms, his chin resting on Dean's head, one hand covering the brand as to protect it from touching the cotton of Castiel's shirt.  Although Dean doubted Castiel would care if it caused him more pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @funtimewriter is to thank once again. xx


	15. Firm Realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally comes to term with his capture. A little too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If this is confusing (Where did that wound come from?!) It's because I'm a dumbass.  
> Go back to chapter 14! It's no longer a note; it's now a chapter.  
> I'm really not very smart.
> 
> Also:  
> WARNINGS:  
> CONSENSUAL ANAL SEX
> 
> SMUTTITY SMUT OF SMUTLINESS
> 
> Enjoy xx

Firm hands pressing painfully on Dean's torso kept him balancing on the line between the complete liminality of unconsciousness and screaming.  "Castiel,” he whimpered.  
   
"Hush baby.  It's okay.  We have to dress the wound."  Castiel ran one of his cruel hands through Dean's hair and to the sweat soaked back of his neck.  "Stop shivering baby, it's going to be fine," Castiel reassured him, securing the last of the dressing, his fingertips hard against Dean’s sensitive wound.  "There!  All finished."  He pulled back abruptly, pausing to admire his work.  "What do you say?"  Castiel pressed down a loose piece of medical tape.  
   
"Thank you," Dean said, a little less drowsy.  He could still feel his pounding heart and the flesh that Castiel had touched still burned as if it was aflame.  
   
"Good boy."  Castiel kissed the top of his head in acknowledgement.  He turned away from Dean, stripping off his shirt, which, by now, had surely been soaked with Dean's nervous sweat.  Then meticulously returning the medical supplies to their proper places in the kitchen.  
   
Dean made a move to get down from the island counter and was rewarded with a harsh stare and a raised eyebrow.  Swiftly returning to his place he found his blurry vision quickly returning.  Eventually, he could see well enough that he was able to read the subtitles aimlessly drifting across the TV screen Castiel had installed in the corner of his kitchen, probably for this very reason – to watch news.  
   
Dean reached for the controller behind him, increasing the volume and grabbing Castiel's attention.  Castiel looked across from where he was returning the first aid box to one of the higher cupboards, his eyes narrowing.  
   
"Yesterday the hunt for eighteen-year-old Dean Winchester was terminated after four weeks of unsuccessful searching.  In other news..."  The picture of him smiling, leaning against his brother, faded from view.  
   
Dean couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t blink.  He just kept staring at the TV as if it could take back what it had said.  They’ve stopped looking.  No one will ever find him.  No one was coming to rescue him.  
   
"Hey, baby."  Castiel guided Dean into his arms, sensing his obvious distress.  "It's okay. Remember, I told you the police would stop looking for you?  Now you understand, I'm the only one that cares about you, baby.  I'm not really asking much of you.  What does your family have that I can't provide, hmm?  They don't care about you."  Castiel kissed him gently, Dean kissed back.  "You're mine, Dean.”  He stared into Dean’s eyes, black pupils were slowly beating the blue in the battle for space.  “Tell me who you belong to,” he practically growled.   
   
"You," Dean said, barely audible.  He was struggling to form words around his silent sobs.  
   
"I think you're missing an honorific there, baby," Castiel chided lightly, drumming his fingertips against Dean’s wound.  
   
"I belong to you, sir," Dean amended.   
   
Castiel pressed his lips to the top of Dean's head.  "Good boy.  My perfect boy."  Dean relaxed into his warm body and allowed Castiel to hold him, not fighting when Castiel maneuvered him from the counter and walked him to his bedroom.  "You're mine,” he kept saying.   
   
Dean repeated it in his head, like a mantra, praying the sting would recede.  He had failed in life.  Who wants a pizza boy for a brother?  Who wants a fag for a son?  
   
When Castiel pulled him onto his lap on the bed, all he could think about was his father.  What would his father think?  Perhaps he knew this whole time, knew how inadequate Dean was?  Maybe that's why he had left.  
   
Castiel ran his smooth hands over Dean's torso, meeting no resistance as thoughts tumbled through Dean's head.  Dean couldn’t think straight.  "You're mine," Castiel said, kissing the red marks made by the wax.  As if his touch could sooth the burning itch.  
   
At first, Dean had to admit he hadn't wanted it.  He told himself he didn't crave the touch of man like he might long to make love to an attractive woman.  But he could see now that as much as he tried to suppress it, as much as he had tried to deny it, it had always been a part of him.  A part of him that Castiel had acknowledged.  That Castiel loved!  Perhaps the only part of him that was worth anything, to Castiel anyhow.  
   
"Mine,” his master growled as he pushed Dean onto his back on the bed.    
   
Dean felt the gentle caress of a hand across his cheek and the insistent push of Castiel's lips on his own, and he responded.  Arching into the touch and moaning alongside his captor as he rubbed his clothed erection against Dean's naked flesh.  Castiel pulled back from the kiss, allowing Dean to breathe.  "Yours."  He was, truly, Castiel's.  He had no control.  If Castiel wanted this, then this was all Dean could give.  He was worthless in the eyes of society, not even worth looking for.  Who was he holding out for?  Who did he think would rescue someone like him?  It made him wonder why Castiel even wanted someone like him.  
   
“Such a good boy,” Castiel complimented as he gripped Dean’s hips and allowed him to grind down on Castiel’s lap, not letting Dean control the pace.   
   
He could do this.  If he could do nothing else, he could do this.  He could please Castiel.  Castiel had saved him.  “You saved me,” he whispered, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder, breathing in deeply as arousal clouded his senses.   
   
He could feel Castiel chuckling beneath him.   “Did I, baby boy?” he asked, pulling Dean back to face him with a hand in his hair.   
   
“Yes,” Dean replied, eyes blackened with lust.  
   
“Hmm.”  Castiel smiled.  “I like that.” He thrusted against Dean’s naked ass.  “I saved you.  I’m the one who gripped you tight,” Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s hard cock, “and raised you from perdition.”   
   
Dean nodded, watching Castiel’s skilled fingers dance over his flesh.  
   
“I want to make you happy, Dean.  Will you let me do that?  Or will you fight me?” Castiel asked, kissing along Dean’s neck.   
   
“I…”  I what?  Dean paused, thinking it over.  If he gave in, if he dared to even think for a moment that he should give in…?  The words spilled out without his permission, but he knew that they were true.  “I won’t fight you.”   
   
“Good boy,” Castiel said, turning so that Dean was laying on his back beneath him.  “Such a beautiful boy!”  
   
Dean blushed and tried to turn away from Castiel’s all-seeing eyes, but a firm hand on his jaw prevented him.  “Watch me,” Castiel instructed, finding a pair of pillows to rest beneath Dean’s head and hips.  He ran his tongue over Dean’s chest, lapping at Dean’s sensitive nipples which earned him a sensual moan.  Pausing to undo the button and fly of his jeans.  Pulling out his cock.  This wasn’t the first time Dean had seen, or taken, Castiel’s dick before.  But this time, it felt like more.  Which made it all the more frightening.  “Don’t worry, baby.  I’ll take care of you,” Castiel told him, grabbing lube from the bedside cabinet.  “I’m going to take such good care of you!” he said quietly, so quietly that Dean doubted he was supposed to hear.  But in the resounding silence of Castiel’s bedroom, Dean was sure that even his fluttering heartbeat was deafening.  
   
A single finger pushed past the rim of Dean’s entrance and he bucked his hips upwards without hesitation.   
   
“My greedy little boy.  Desperate for my cock,” Castiel noted, adding another finger to satisfy his lover.  
   
Dean moaned recklessly at the intrusion, earning a stream of kisses, each one getting closer and closer to his groin.  Castiel nibbled at Dean’s left inner thigh before adding a third finger and continuing to steadily drive them in and out of Dean.  “I think you’re ready now.  I think you can take it, baby.  Do you want me to?” Castiel breathed against Dean’s neck.  
   
“Yes,” Dean whispered desperately.  “Yes please.  Please!”  
   
“Ask nicely,” Castiel taunted, twisting his fingers and accidentally brushing Dean’s prostate, which made him squirm and writhe uncontrollably.  “Oh!  Look what I found,” Castiel grinned, teasingly dragging the pads of his fingertips against Dean’s prostate.   
   
“Oh god!  Please!  Please!  Please fuck me, sir?  Please!” Dean gasped, begging shamelessly and trying to fuck himself down on Castiel’s fingers.  “Please!” he said again, this time barely a whisper.   
   
“Since you asked so nicely?” Castiel said, arousal taking over as he retracted his fingers and drizzled lube onto his hard dick.  Pushing into Dean without remorse.  His hands falling to either side of Dean’s head so he could watch his expression as he fucked him.  Dean had his eyes firmly closed and a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, lips slack and mouth hanging open.  Castiel took the opportunity, almost bending Dean in half to claim his tempting lips.  Dean moaned into the kiss and Castiel knew he was done teasing.  Setting a punishing pace, he fucked Dean into the mattress.  Nothing could be more satisfying than this, his baby finally realizing that no one loved him more than Castiel.  Submitting to him entirely.  Nothing could be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I take so long to update. I'm a terrible human being.  
> I gave you smut; Forgive me? 
> 
> Comments make me happy xx - Even if you just comment that I'm an ass.
> 
> Also; @funtimewriter I fucking love you so much. Best beta ever. Everyone give thanks to the mightiest of betas.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))

The sheet dragged across his naked ass, pulling him from sleep and depositing him in an emotionless wasteland.  Dean's eyes blinked open, the hazy room becoming focused as he regained his senses.  He could hear the muffled drilling of an electric toothbrush coming from the bathroom.  He raised his head from the pillow to look around.  
   
The door was open.  
   
The door was right there.  Wide open.  
   
He could leave.  
   
Castiel came out of the bathroom and Dean sunk back into the sheets, listening as Castiel quietly got dressed, the fluttering of fabric over his chiseled form, pen on paper.  Paper on desk.  And then the sound of the door closing and... no lock.  A few minutes later Dean heard the unmistakable sound of a car leaving the driveway.  Maybe, just maybe, he was alone?  He scrambled out of bed and lunged for the note, praying it would tell him that Castiel was setting him free.  That he had had his fun breaking him and now he could leave.  
   
Alas, that was not the case.  
   
 _I'll be back at 1.  Behave._  
   
Simple.  Short.  But the implications were undeniable.  Dean shrugged the cool sheet over his shoulders and bunched it up in his hands to prevent it from sliding off as silky things have a tendency to do.  Wandering down into the kitchen to feed himself and dull the ache in the pit in his stomach.  A bowl of oatmeal later and he was still unsatisfied.  
   
He discarded the sheet, leaving him naked in the kitchen, and knelt before the cupboard beneath the sink, hoping to find something edible that didn't make him feel like some sort of health freak.  Vegetables polluted Castiel’s fridge and there were so many grains in his high cupboards that Dean could practically taste the lentils.  He pried open the door, peculiar considering the newness of the kitchen.  It revealed a collection of cleaning items and something that was unmistakably rat poison.  
   
Dean looked around, for no reason other than to ensure Castiel hadn't been hiding behind a floor length grey curtain this entire time, shadowing him in the hope he'd do something that warranted punishment.  Dean pulled the poison out and held it tenderly in his hands, sweaty grip making him fear for both his hide and his ability to go through with the plan formulating in his rushing brain.  How much rat poison to kill a human?  How much to knock one out?  He doubted Castiel's men would chase him if Castiel himself was unconscious.  Perhaps he'd have enough time to get away?  Or at least he'd have enough time to find a better weapon.  Dean grimaced upon remembering his last attempt at escape and his hand drifted towards the cupboard, intending to return the toxin.  But he stopped.  It was worth a try, right?  He should try.  For Sammy.  
   
Dean read the label in vain, hoping it would yield information about a human size dose.  “Toxic.  Wash out if  gets in eyes.”  Great.  Fucking fantastic.  No idea what the dosage should be.  Perfect.  Dean gingerly returned his only hope of escape back to its original position, promising both himself and his brother that he'd be back for it soon.  
   
Castiel, true to his word, returned at one.  Dean spent the rest of his day in the library, under the careful supervision of one of Castiel's men.  Why he had not been joined in the kitchen he did not know.  He supposed it was probably to do with the fact that the only exit from the kitchen was, in fact, guarded.  Then again, it may not be the case and it might be that the rat poison was in fact just a clever manipulative device.  Castiel was just finding new ways to break him.  Not that there was much left to break.  
   
"Hey babe," Castiel greeted him, pulling the sheet clad man into his arms from the chair.  Dean didn't struggle.  "What have you been up to today?" Castiel said jovially.  He pulled Dean up by his armpits and set him on the floor as Castiel took the chair and sank a hand into Dean's soft hair.  
   
"Reading," Dean quietly replied, looking at the book beside the chair nestled next to an unlit lamp.  
   
Castiel pursed his lips playfully and pulled the book up before him to assess.  "Excellent choice.  Hemingway.  What do you think of Maria?"  
   
"Why do you ask about Maria?" Dean asked, genuinely confused as to Castiel's line of thinking.  Maria was not the protagonist.  She was, in fact, the young lover of the protagonist.  A beautiful woman, wronged by her family.  Dishonored.  And loved by a man far older and with far less innocent motives.  Perhaps if this decision had not been so coerced, Dean might've felt the same way.  
   
"I like her spirit," Castiel answered, humming as he flicked through the pages.  
   
Dean watched him, neglecting to rest his head against Castiel's leg as the fingers gently encouraged.  "I would like to cook, sometime.  If that's alright,” Dean said quietly.  
   
Castiel looked up.  “Hmm?"  His expression conveyed nothing but amusement.  
   
"To cook.  I like to cook."  Dean blushed.  
   
Castiel's answering smile soothed his anxiety.  "I'd like that very much."  
   
Dean beamed, his cheek finding Castiel's jeans in silent thanks.  Castiel hummed his approval, scratching his fingers against Dean's scalp in a way that might have made him want to purr, but instead just fueled his nauseous dread.  Which spices could hide the repulsive tang of an overdose of warfarin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I take so long to update shit.  
> Also; if you're following all my other fics, don't panic! (In case you were panicking, which I doubt because, I mean , who really cares if I update? Im enjoying the delusion) I will be adding to them as well. I was just in the mood for a littlest Stockholm syndrome. Ya know. *smirk*
> 
> Also; Thank you @funtimewriter !


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the stunning conclusion to the previous heart wrenching chapter.

Dean stared at the cupboard blankly.  This was the perfect time to use it!  Why wasn't he doing it?  He couldn't move.  He couldn't do it.  He willed himself closer to the handle, knuckles white, gripping the worktop behind for dear life.  What if he fucked it up?  What if Castiel worked it out?  The perfect image of his disappointed face was already crushing Dean's very soul.  Dean could practically hear his gravelly voice asking Dean why he made him punish him again?  When he would learn?  Why he thought he'd ever get away with it?  
   
Green eyes settled on the coriander in the pestle and mortar beside him.  All he had to do was sprinkle it in.  That was it. I t should be easy.  
   
"What are you thinking about?" Castiel asked stepping in the room.  
   
Dean sighed in relief, now he didn't have to think about it.  "Nothing.  Just staring off into space,” he replied.  
   
Castiel nodded, inspecting the food.  Gently twisting the wooden spoon in the blood red sauce.    
"Spaghetti?"  
   
"Yeah," Dean replied.  Swallowing his mutinous thoughts, but unable to escape the crushing guilt.   
   
Castiel sauntered towards him, pushing him back against the counter and resting his hands on either side.  "And how long can you leave spaghetti unsupervised?" Castiel smiled with intent.  
   
No.  No.  No.  No.  He couldn't go through this again.  Dean panicked, breath coming in short sharp gasps that the man before him mistook for arousal.  Body shivering with pure fear.  Adrenaline coursing through his veins and leaving him sweaty and immobile.  "Not long, not long at all," Dean choked out.  
   
Castiel backed off with a disappointed shrug and a terrifying promise of "Later."  
   
Dean fucking hoped not.  He couldn't do that again, let Castiel touch him again.  He can't live like this.  He'd thought about it before, killing himself, before Castiel had even taken him.  Hell, he'd sat on the edge of the damn bridge!  But this, poison, it seemed so messy!  Far better to poison the bad guy.  Castiel was the bad guy, right?  Castiel, who was currently failing to reach a tin of biscuits he kept on the top shelf despite being six feet tall.  Dean watched him stretch, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his muscled stomach.  Dean had touched that stomach.  Dean swallowed nervously, focusing on the burning sauce and putting the hard strands of pasta into the bubbling water.  He remembered Sam making a crude joke about it, back when his little brother was addicted to that site, tumbler?  Tumblr?  Something like that.  “Straight until it gets wet.”  Nothing could be more ironic.  
   
Sam.  Dean winced.  Sam, his baby brother, no doubt staying with Bobby in the desperate hope that Dean would return.  His eyes found the cupboard just as Castiel left the room, excusing himself to the bathroom.  He had to do it.   
   
 _He had to do it._  
  
 _He had to._  
  
 _For Sammy._  
   
Dean swallowed to soothe his dry throat and gingerly knelt down to open the cupboard, pouring a couple of handfuls of the bright blue pellets into his mortar and grinding them into a sort of blue paste.  He closed the cupboard silently, leaving everything as it was.  Adding the paste to the left side of the red sauce and praying to anyone that was listening that Castiel wouldn't notice.  Someone must've been because, after a little careful stirring, it was completely unperceivable.  
   
Castiel chose that moment to return, sliding behind Dean and pressing his cotton clad crotch into Dean's ass, resting his head on Dean's stiffened shoulder.  He stuck a finger into the poisoned side of warm sauce and brought it up to his lips, sucking on it noisily.  Dean held his breath.  
   
"Pretty good."  
   
He didn't notice?  How didn't he notice?  Shit.  What if Dean killed him?  
   
Castiel kissed the side of his neck with his tomatoey lips.  "You look so cute when you wear these band shirts."  Castiel pulled the fabric away from Dean's tense muscles and allowed it to gently flop back.  
   
He couldn't move.  Fuck.  What if he died?  What if Dean killed him?  Dean stared at the poisonous pan as images of Sam's pained face flashed through his head.  
   
 _He had to do this._  
  
 _He had to._  
   
"I think it's almost ready now," Dean noted, stirring the pasta gently.  
   
"Hmmm."  Castiel was still kissing his neck, occasionally biting and then soothing the sting with his tongue.  He was planning on leaving marks.  He loved leaving marks.  
   
Dean thought back to the healing brand on his chest.  CN.  The fanciest scrawl he'd ever seen, all interconnected with ugly pink scars.  Barely healed, especially when Castiel insisted on irritating the wound with lemon juice and scrubbing the scabs off in the shower, despite Dean’s protest that both were incredibly painful.  CN.  Right over his heart.  Castiel owned him.  Without Castiel he was...  It was dangerous to even imagine.  
   
 _No!   He was Sam's big brother.  He had to get back to Sam.  It was his responsibility._  
   
He could burn the sauce?  
   
 _No_.  "I'm going to serve it."  
   
Castiel mumbled an okay and withdrew from Dean's neck, heading to the table and taking his place.  
   
Dean piled the pasta and sauce onto Castiel's plate.  Then removed a little.  He didn't want to kill Castiel...  
   
Sam, his brain cruelly reminded him, and he heaped more sauce on.  Doing similar to his own plate but avoiding the poisoned side.  Wait.  That was the poisoned side right?  Fuck!  Yeah, it was.  Dean regained his breath and headed to the table.  Dean just had to hope that Castiel wouldn't feed him from his own plate.  
   
He set the dish in front of Castiel and went to sit beside him on his cushion, only to find it was not there.  He looked to Castiel in confusion.  
   
"Spagetti is too messy,” he said by way of explanation and motioned to the chair and place set adjacent to him.   
   
Dean took his offer, sitting down with an ungrateful thud.  Castiel gave him a disapproving look but said nothing.  
   
That was poison.   He stared it at.  Castiel looked at him with a furrowed brow.  "What's wrong baby?" he asked.  Waiting for Dean to take his first bite.  Dean shakily obliged, quickly losing his appetite, but putting on a good show.   
   
He was going to poison Castiel.  Kind, sweet Castiel.  He was going to kill him.  
   
 _For Sammy!_  his brain screamed.  _Not a word.  For Sammy!_  
   
Castiel pushed his fork into the pasta and the world slowed down.  Twirling and twirling and twirling.  
   
Dean felt his heart rise in his throat.  
   
Twirling and twirling and twirling.  Castiel began to lift it from the pasta mountain.  
   
 _For Sammy!_   
   
Say something!   
   
 _No!  For Sammy!_   
   
A little fell from his fork and Castiel twisted it again.  Capturing the tendrils of pasta and raising it mere inches from the plate.  
   
"Stop!" Dean screamed, pushing Castiel's hand with so much force the fork flew through the air and hit the wall, spattering the blood red sauce on the wall.  Dean was sweating, shaking, his eyes white with fear.  "Don't,” he said, quietly this time.  Watching Castiel's expression twist from confusion to annoyance.  
   
"Dean?" he warned, staring at the mark on the wall and then the fork.  A small amount of pasta peeling from the wall as gravity battled its natural stickiness.  "What's going on?"  
   
Dean couldn't speak.  Couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.  He couldn't do it.  Fuck.  _Sammy_.  Fuck.  He couldn't do it.  
   
The tears were streaming down his face.  
   
"I…"  He choked on his sobs, unable to form real words.  
   
Castiel waited patiently for his explanation, but it didn't come.  
   
Dean was soon a weeping wreck, forehead resting against the table as the tears dropped down onto the wood.  "I…"   
   
A soothing hand rubbing his back only made him cry harder.  "What did you do Dean?" Castiel prompted.  
   
"I…  I…" Dean hiccupped.  "I…"  His breath was coming in gasps.  "I…"  He couldn't tell him.  He'd fucked this up so much.  Why did he stop him, he was so close?  
   
Oh god, he almost killed Castiel!  He almost tricked himself into thinking that by killing his salvation he'd be released from condemnation!  Idiot!  Stupid.  Stupid.  "Stupid!"  He bashed his fist against the table, causing the cutlery to jump in fright and Castiel's brow to furrow further in concern and confusion.  
   
"Dean?"   
   
Kind Castiel.  Loving Castiel.  Who touched him.  Who loved him.  Who would take care of him.  Who provided for him.  Who allowed him in his bed, allowed him to eat from his table.  Kind Castiel, who pulled the chair back and cradled Dean's head against his chest.   "I…  It's, oh god, I'm so sorry!  I'm so sorry!" Dean sobbed.  
   
"Why are you sorry, Dean?  Knocking the fork out of my hand was rude, but I get the sense that's not what you're apologizing for."  
   
It was easier to nod, so nod he did.  His smooth cheek rubbing against the soft material of Castiel's t-shirt.  
   
"You can tell me, baby."  
   
Dean shook his head.  He watched as Castiel dropped down to his knees to hold Dean's face in his hand and green melted into blue.  He saw a reflection of his pitiful state in Castiel's eyes and felt the hope drain out of him.  "I…  It."  
   
"What, baby?"  
   
"It.  It."  Dean's lower lip trembled.  "I can't.  I can't do it."  
   
"Do what, baby boy?  You can tell me."  Castiel kissed his forehead reassuringly and the guilt made Dean hang his head.  "Baby?  What did you do?  Was it the food?" Castiel guessed, sounding genuinely unsure.  
   
Dean nodded.  
   
"What did you do to the food, baby?  You can tell me."  
   
"I…"  Panic welled in his chest.  Castiel would be furious and disappointed, and all the trust he had built would just vanish, and…  And…  "I…"   He had to come clean.  Maybe Castiel would forgive him?  
   
"Yes?" Castiel asked, maintaining eye contact as Dean tried to duck away.  
   
"I…"  He couldn't say it.  He couldn't admit to it.  He tried a less direct approach.  "I, the other day, I-I found this... in the cupboard.  Under the s-sink..."  
   
Castiel's eyes darkened.  "It's poisoned, isn't it?"   
   
Fuck.  Fuck.  He was going to kill him.  "No!" Dean lied.   
   
Castiel's expression lightened to one of confusion, and then the aggression returned.  "Are you lying to me?  You know how I feel about lying!"  
   
Dean searched his eyes for remorse, finding none.  "Yes,” he whimpered, hanging his head.  "I couldn't.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't let you eat it.  I couldn't!" Dean mumbled, slumping down in his chair.  "I just couldn't."  
   
Castiel leaned back, watching Dean.  Calculating his response.  What felt like hours passed before Castiel spoke again.  Hope glimmered in Dean's chest but it was crushed by something he recognized as reason and its friend, logic.  
   
"I need some time to think."  Castiel surprised him.  "Clean this mess up."  
   
Dean's eyes shot to the tomato stain drying on the wall.  
   
"Not that.  I'll get the cleaner to deal with that."  
   
Dean nodded solemnly.  
   
"Was yours poisoned too?" Castiel asked, still worried for him.  Worried about him.  Always worried.  Loving, kind Castiel.  Oh god, what has he done?!  Dean felt another hot tear fall down and catch on his chin as he shook his head.  
   
Castiel, deciding that Dean was telling the truth and did not need any medical attention, left the room.  Leaving Dean to wallow in his self-hatred and dream up a thousand ways for Castiel to torture him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo bitches!  
> Jk. I love and respect you all.  
> for cereals tho, you're all awesome.  
> Especially you!  
> Jk. I have no fucking clue who you are.
> 
> It's 00:54  
> Perfect time to post this bullshit. 
> 
> Comments inspire me to continue writing. Kudos make me squeal like a teen girl - not even kidding, I squeal so high it makes dogs fucking howl.


	18. Chapter 18

Some time to think.  He had said some time.  “Some time” had turned into three days and it was driving Dean insane.  Castiel must’ve been avoiding him.  That was the only way to explain his relentless absence from every room Dean entered.  With the exception of the bedroom, Dean daren’t go in there.  He didn’t deserve to go in there.  
   
He’d spent the first day of his exile cleaning the entire dining room and polishing the silverware meticulously.  If Castiel had noticed, he hadn’t bothered to remark upon it.  In fact, he hadn’t said a word to Dean since the incident.  Not that there’d been many opportunities to talk considering Dean’s current treatment.  That night Dean had slept on the floor of the kitchen, exhausted.   
   
The second day he trailed two steps behind Castiel like a lost puppy, waiting on his impending punishment and knowing he deserved it.  
   
On the third he continued his efforts, bringing Castiel a glass of water before Castiel had even requested it from the kitchen staff.  Presenting it to him with all the finesse of an experienced waiter only to be ignored in favor of a different beverage.  Never had rejection stung so much, well perhaps once.  This entire affair was reminding him quite soberly of his relationship with his father, all silence and cold stares.  
   
Being ignored so ruthlessly was doing things to his mind, and with the staff forbidden to talk to him, Dean had never felt so alone.  So starved of a touch he thought he didn’t desire.  How he longed for Castiel to just touch him, even if it was to take the whip to his back again!  How he longed for Castiel’s rough voice, even if it was to scold him for his stupidity, even if it was to pronounce his sentence upon him.  
   
Soon Dean bored of this game.  Avoiding the man was all too possible, and Dean was not going to shrink away from the oncoming storm.  His bare feet soundless against the carpet of the hallway as he made his way to the impending door of the study.  It looked like the entrance to some fortress.  Iron clad bumps protruded from the wooden surface and Dean ran his hands over them, curious about the texture but mostly stalling.  He inhaled shakily and brought his fist down onto the door.  When it swung open, he realized he was trembling.  
   
“Yes, Dean?”  
   
The first words.  It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders by some unseen mechanism and he could breathe again.  “Sir?  I wanted to know what my punishment will be.  Unless this is it?” Dean glanced at the floor, shamefully realizing his mistake.  “Sir, please, I can take anything, but please not this!”  
   
“Not what?”  Castiel seemed genuinely confused.  “I am not punishing you.”  
   
“But…”  Forgetting his place, but he was quickly forgiven by his captor.   
   
“You have seemed a little quieter recently.  If anything I’m pleased.  After the pasta fiasco, you’ve settled down nicely.”  Castiel forwent mentioning how much he enjoyed the spark in Dean’s eyes and the fight in his limbs lest he encourage his captive to put up the fight Castiel knew he was capable of and escape him for good.   
   
“But I tried to kill you!”  Dean felt his cheeks warm with the ruby color of frustration.   
   
“And yet, here I am.”  Castiel held out his arms as if to demonstrate his liveliness.  “Unharmed.”   
   
“But…“  
   
“Listen Dean, although your actions were… undesirable?  I’m very proud of you for admitting your mistake and…”  
   
“I tried to kill you!” Dean implored.  Knowing his task should not be dismissed so easily, seeking reprieve in Castiel’s too easily earned forgiveness.  Eyes widening in fear as he realized that he had interrupted his master.  The whites of his eyes becoming more visible as he realized that he hadn’t come here to defend himself.  This was condemnation.   
   
Castiel stared at him for an eternity.  A calculative look, weighing up Dean’s invisible emotions.  Tenderly pulling them out of his throat on a piece of string, then taking their razor-sharp edges and laying them on the scales.  I find you guilty.  “Are you asking to be punished?”  He blinked, the blue temporarily obscured.   
   
Dean realized the weight had been gathering again when it was temporarily lighter with the momentary absence of Castiel’s steady gaze.  No!  “Would it… Would you stop avoiding me? Would you…”  No!  No!  Dean didn’t want this, he wanted none of Castiel’s soft touches, his corrupting touches.  “Would you touch me again, like you did before?”  Deans scalp tingled at the memory of Castiel’s fingers.  Condemnation.  And like that, it was said.  The words could not crawl back into Dean’s traitorous mouth as his mind instructed them, begged them.   
   
“I didn’t think you liked it when I touched you.  I was giving you some space after the incident.  To adjust.”  Castiel chuckled, voice filled with wonderment.  “I knew you were special, Dean.”   
   
Touch him?!  What was he thinking?  He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want Castiel!  Kind, loving Castiel with his sweet, soft touches.  Castiel who whipped him.  Castiel who held him.  Castiel who wanted him when no one else in this cruel world did.  “Please,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the resounding drumbeat of his heart.  “Please!” he begged, his voice floating away from his body as the pressure became too much, like fleas deserting a dying rabbit.  He watched his independence follow it, scuttling across the floor with his love for his brother and his hope for escape.  Crawling into cracks in the walls in search of greener pastures.   
   
Castiel’s hand on his shoulder ended the famine and Dean all but collapsed into his arms.  “Please.”   
   
“Hush,” Castiel commanded and Dean did as he was told.  Castiel’s fingertips absently tracing the mark on his prisoner’s hip.  “Hush, I’ll make it better.”   
   
“Thank you,” Dean said quietly breaking the silence as Castiel guided him to the table, laying him down on his front across the tidy desk. His tears dripping down onto the unforgiving surface and pooling in perfectly symmetrical puddles as Castiel pulled up the dress shirt Dean had been living in for the past couple of days, the only clothing Dean could locate outside of Castiel’s room.   
   
The first strike against his bare ass was unexpected, but he didn’t struggle.  Only when Castiel had surely turned the burning flesh a whole new shade of red did he begin to whimper, and once the damn of sounds had been broken, the entire thing collapsed.  Sending waves of wordless cries gushing out to the pleased ears of his master.  
   
A firm hand on his lower back told him it was over.  Like a convict leaving a prison after serving his time, Dean felt free.  Castiel pulled him up from the table and cradled him in his arms.  Dean’s dewy eyes met Castiel’s sharp ocean blue as he kissed his captor.  He had condemned himself, fallen in every way possible to fall.  Sam’s plight was the furthest thought from his mind as Castiel unbuttoned his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm a terrible human being.  
> I'm currently getting my motivation in capsule form, hence the seemingly random updates.  
> Apologies.
> 
> Also; sorry Dean-o. Mind games are so much fun ;)
> 
> Usual drill:  
> Comments inspire me to write (seriously you have no idea how awesome you all are.)  
> also; send some love @funtimewriter 's way please crew x  
> And kudos are just plain cool. I like hearts, they're a cool shape.


	19. chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.  
> I haven't updated in a millennia and then you get not one, but TWO chapters over two days.  
> What is this, christmas!?  
> Who sold their soul?! (It was totally me)  
> Jk. My writing's not good enough to count as a present.

Castiel took the interrupting phone call in only his silky blue boxers, stumbling out of the bed gracelessly which surprised Dean.  For a man who always seemed so inhuman, here a shred of his true self was exposed.  He heard Castiel growl a name as he marched into the hallway and slammed the door, locking Dean inside with only a sheet loosely wrapped around him.  The pillow cushioned his head as he fell back down onto the bed.  There was no point listening in.  He wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon.   
   
When Castiel returned he offered no explanation for his sudden disappearance, just showered and dressed in a smart dark purple tux.  Meticulously folding a green pocket square and grinning at his favorite toy gleefully as he announced that he was taking Dean to the Opera.   
   
The tux fit well, despite it being so hastily tailored in the back alley of some posh part of the city Dean had never visited.    
   
It had all happened so fast.  Bundled into the car, freshly showered with the steam still coming off his hair in waves as Castiel’s no doubt heavily armed chauffer drove them into the bustle of the nearby city.  People.  Dean hadn’t seen people in so long that he’d forgotten what they looked like.  The guilt was crushing him into the expensive leather of the Bentley seats as they cruised past the shops.  A left turn, and then a right – not that he needed to remember, who exactly was he going to tell?  Still staring out the shaded windows in awe at the passers-by. C astiel was too busy on his phone to notice Dean’s shaking frame.  People, mothers with children in those fancy little strollers with the hoods on.  Fathers holding the hands of their sons as they walked to the barber’s together.  An elderly woman struggling to carry her shopping and almost tripping on her small rat-like dog as it ran about her legs in a frenzy.  People, real actual people.  Breathing people, misting the air with their carbon dioxide.  People, making dirty boot prints on the tiles of shops as they escape from the September chill.  People.  With soft skin and muscles rippling below the surface.  Fat ones and thin ones and tall ones and short ones.  And it was all just too much.  
   
Dean let his head fall into his hands, realizing how long his hair had become and feeling the shadow of stubble.  Castiel preferred him fresh-faced and would shave him with an electric razor every morning.  Somehow his forgetfulness this morning in his rush to organize this trip had left Dean with a rebellious mind, and a rebellious mind is a restless one.   
   
Castiel’s hand on his arm brought him back as he was lugged out of the car, his bare feet hurting on the harsh ground.  Castiel didn’t notice.  He wasn’t dragged into the shop.  He didn’t need to be.  Even unarmed, Castiel was terrifying, but a flash of his gun lodged firmly in its holster set Dean’s mind at ease.  If he couldn’t escape, then he didn’t have the worry about it.  He didn’t want to worry about it.  Castiel sat with him while he was being fitted for his suit, admiring the various shades of grey across Dean’s pale flesh, and finally deciding on one that Dean could only describe as dark grey even if Castiel insisted it was “charcoal.”  Honestly, he saw very little difference between that and the “battleship grey” Castiel had abhorred.   
   
They drove the Opera, suited and shoed.  Castiel leaving his men at the door of their private box.   
   
“How are you finding it?” Castiel asked him during the intermission.   
   
“I don’t know, sir,” Dean replied timidly, pulling on the cuff of his new shirt.  
   
The sound of a phone vibrating in Castiel’s pocket was unmistakable.  Castiel closed his mouth and looked down at it, his brow furrowing, illuminated by the bright screen.  He stood from his plush seat, the cushion refilled as Dean watched the man stride across to the door and open it enough to look out into the hallway.   
   
“What is it?” Dean questioned, his voice a whisper.  Impossibly loud in the silent room.  
   
“We need to leave.”  His voice had dropped impossibly lower and taken on a hint of an accent Dean didn’t recognize, the same accent he had spoken in the night before when he had called out Dean’s name in ecstasy.  
   
“What?”  The door was drawn open.  There was blood seeping across the carpet, stopped by the metal of the door frame.   
   
“Now.”  His pace became more hurried as he drew his gun.  
   
Dean was rooted to the spot.  
   
“Dean!  Quickly!” Castiel commanded, making a forward motion with the gun.  “Get behind me.”  They marched down the hallway, stepping carefully past the two dead guards, and out into the reception of the theater, Castiel securing his gun in its holster when he realized they were no longer in danger.  Taking Dean’s hand as he led him through a steel door into a warm room, filled with the scent of wonderful foods.   
   
The first gunshot rebounded off of the stainless steel kitchen counter.  The second hit the wall.  Castiel pushed him onto the ground and returned fire.  “Damn it Gabriel!” he cursed, dropping down beside Dean to reload the magazine of his gun.  “Who have you pissed off now?!”  He was too quiet to have been talking to Dean.  
   
The kitchen door swung open and Dean looked up.  A boy, barely older than nineteen.  Armed to the teeth and quivering like a leaf on a gusty day.  He said something in a foreign language but before he could finish speaking there was blood gushing out of his mouth.  Dean didn’t even hear the gunshot.  But he smelt it.  The world narrowed down, a tunnel between his own eyes and the dying light in the eyes of the boy that lay bleeding out on the kitchen floor.   
   
The next gunshot brought him back to his senses.  Castiel was still firing at the other shooter.   
   
The door wasn’t locked.  
   
Dean could run.   
   
He could bolt for the door and be gone before Castiel could catch him.  
   
He could be free.   
   
Another boy looked at him from the shimmering metal, distorted, unrecognizable.  And yet, there was something in his green eyes that Dean recognized even if he hadn’t seen it in a while: Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill.  
> I love you all.  
> XXX
> 
> @funtimewriter = actual angel.


	20. Note

Heya readers, I'm Iron_Mage an irl friend of & occasionally beta for Ill_write_it. 

Due to some irl stuff unfortunately Ill_write_it has been completely cutoff from the internet for the foreseeable future & thus I suggested that I act as a go between for him and type up, beta & post any of his writings from now on. To say updates will sporadic would be an understatement as I have limited contact with him & am both dyslexic (among over learning disabilities/ND stuff) & can barely read Ill_write's handwriting + my final exams are very soon meaning I'll have little time to spare & devote to this (read: I'll probably procrastinate revising and work on this instead lol). 

I plan on printing any comments & feedback/reviews for him to see + some fics & writing prompts for him to read & be inspired/motivated by. Thus i'd love if you guys would show as much support as possible for Ill_write while he goes through this particularly shitty period of his life by leaving said comments (even if it's just a smiley, <3?or links to quality memes) & maybe even some Supernatural &/or Blue Exorcist fic recs (he loves Nekos). I'm sure such content will help get the creative juices flowing ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

I'll hopefully next have contact with him around mid to late April so the quicker the comments the more likely they'll be seen & responded to.

(P.S. I meant to have posted this ages ago but saved it in drafts to look over the next day for mistakes & totally forgot I hadn't actually posted it properly...  
ill_write_it will kill me when he finds out XD rip my ADHD ass)

Okay! So. I'm back. But due to reason's posted above; my updates are going to be annoyingly few and far between. Like. Really annoying. Prepared to be frustrated.


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I'm out. I'm freeeeeeee.. Whoop whoop.  
> Been battling the black dog long enough and I kinda fancied a bit of reprise. Sorry if ma writing muscles are a lil stiff. It's been a while.  
> Anyone who's still with me.  
> I don't know how you do it. I fucking love you.
> 
> Guess who's to blame for this amazing betaing...

Over and hour in the trunk, and Dean’s legs were beyond cramped, not to mention the agony from his shoulder.  Thankfully, he wasn’t bleeding too badly.  Not that he was worried. Cas couldn’t kill him.  He almost laughed with the absurdity of it all.  
   
The engine shook the car more noticeably as Castiel slowed down.  Traffic lights?  It was silent.  Not traffic lights then.  The sound of the car door opening.  Rushed footsteps.  Dean waited for the trunk to open.  To be taken back to Cas’s torture chamber.  He wasn’t going down without a fight this time.  He wasn’t going to give in!    
   
But the moment never came.  Not so distant gunshots and then the door opened again.  The engine stalled, and then started and they sped away more quickly than was necessary.  
…  
   
“Get out.”  His voice was harsher than the rush of cold air that washed over Dean when Castiel opened the trunk.  Dean winced waiting for the sharp pain of the needle in his thigh.  When it didn’t come he opened his eyes and looked up.  
   
The first time he had heard that telltale click of the trunk, he had been poised in anticipation, ready to kick Cas in the groin and leap out, run away, and never come back.  Having given up attempting to destroy the car from the inside.  Luckily for Castiel but not so much for Dean, Castiel had anticipated this.  From the moment Dean leapt from the car, it was obvious he wasn’t going to go easy anymore.  They were deep in some woodland in the middle of nowhere.  It was dark.  The bastard had taken them to a secluded spot in the woods.  Even if Dean did manage to get away there was no way he’d be able to find his way out.  
   
Perhaps Dean would have had a better chance had his shoulder not been inoperable.  No one could possibly have heard his bloodcurdling scream when his somewhat disheveled captor pushed his finger into the bullet hole in Dean’s shoulder, causing him to drop to the ground in agony, allowing Castiel to fill his veins with some sort of knockout drug.  His whole arm felt numb now.  He couldn’t move his head to look.  At least it didn’t hurt.  The previous dose of whatever Cas had been giving him for the last few hours… days? left him woozy, but thankfully not in any pain.  
   
“Get out.”  The light was bright.  Dean squinted as Cas moved.  He heard an exasperated sigh when he made no move to do as he was asked and then a soft crunching noise like boots on snow.  Then he felt a warm hand on his bicep, yanking him out of the trunk and onto his feet.  
   
He felt like he was floating, or more accurately, taking account of the nausea, hanging by his feet.  He wobbled around like a young animal, unstable on its own legs.  Castiel didn’t bother to steady him, just continued dragging him along into the woods, abandoning the car and whatever it contained.  Dean spotted take away boxes on the passenger seat and his stomach growled in jealousy.  When was the last time he’d eaten?  
   
A blanket of white untouched snow beneath his feet.  He watched it go by.  Shadows from the trees casting straight black lines against the pure white.  “Where are we?”  He sounded drunk.  Feeling slowly coming back to him and then ebbing away in the cold.  
   
“Nowhere,” came the gruff reply.    
   
Castiel had a coat on.  Dean was still wearing his tux from the opera.  He looked down at his black trousers.  They were stained.  Judging from the time Dean had spent in the car, he didn’t want to know what with.  He felt himself reddening with embarrassment that could easily be blamed on the cold.  “Where are we going?”  His voice was still weak but he was strong enough to keep pace with Cas instead of being dragged along.  
   
“Somewhere no one will find us.”


	22. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. So little going on at the moment around me and my brain is still mush. Sorry for being a slow potato.

Over and hour in the trunk, and Dean’s legs were beyond cramped, not to mention the agony from his shoulder.  Thankfully, he wasn’t bleeding too badly.  Not that he was worried. Cas couldn’t kill him.  He almost laughed with the absurdity of it all.  
   
The engine shook the car more noticeably as Castiel slowed down.  Traffic lights?  It was silent.  Not traffic lights then.  The sound of the car door opening.  Rushed footsteps.  Dean waited for the trunk to open.  To be taken back to Cas’s torture chamber.  He wasn’t going down without a fight this time.  He wasn’t going to give in!    
   
But the moment never came.  Not so distant gunshots and then the door opened again.  The engine stalled, and then started and they sped away more quickly than was necessary.  
…  
   
“Get out.”  His voice was harsher than the rush of cold air that washed over Dean when Castiel opened the trunk.  Dean winced waiting for the sharp pain of the needle in his thigh.  When it didn’t come he opened his eyes and looked up.  
   
The first time he had heard that telltale click of the trunk, he had been poised in anticipation, ready to kick Cas in the groin and leap out, run away, and never come back.  Having given up attempting to destroy the car from the inside.  Luckily for Castiel but not so much for Dean, Castiel had anticipated this.  From the moment Dean leapt from the car, it was obvious he wasn’t going to go easy anymore.  They were deep in some woodland in the middle of nowhere.  It was dark.  The bastard had taken them to a secluded spot in the woods.  Even if Dean did manage to get away there was no way he’d be able to find his way out.  
   
Perhaps Dean would have had a better chance had his shoulder not been inoperable.  No one could possibly have heard his bloodcurdling scream when his somewhat disheveled captor pushed his finger into the bullet hole in Dean’s shoulder, causing him to drop to the ground in agony, allowing Castiel to fill his veins with some sort of knockout drug.  His whole arm felt numb now.  He couldn’t move his head to look.  At least it didn’t hurt.  The previous dose of whatever Cas had been giving him for the last few hours… days? left him woozy, but thankfully not in any pain.  
   
“Get out.”  The light was bright.  Dean squinted as Cas moved.  He heard an exasperated sigh when he made no move to do as he was asked and then a soft crunching noise like boots on snow.  Then he felt a warm hand on his bicep, yanking him out of the trunk and onto his feet.  
   
He felt like he was floating, or more accurately, taking account of the nausea, hanging by his feet.  He wobbled around like a young animal, unstable on its own legs.  Castiel didn’t bother to steady him, just continued dragging him along into the woods, abandoning the car and whatever it contained.  Dean spotted take away boxes on the passenger seat and his stomach growled in jealousy.  When was the last time he’d eaten?  
   
A blanket of white untouched snow beneath his feet.  He watched it go by.  Shadows from the trees casting straight black lines against the pure white.  “Where are we?”  He sounded drunk.  Feeling slowly coming back to him and then ebbing away in the cold.  
   
“Nowhere,” came the gruff reply.    
   
Castiel had a coat on.  Dean was still wearing his tux from the opera.  He looked down at his black trousers.  They were stained.  Judging from the time Dean had spent in the car, he didn’t want to know what with.  He felt himself reddening with embarrassment that could easily be blamed on the cold.  “Where are we going?”  His voice was still weak but he was strong enough to keep pace with Cas instead of being dragged along.  
   
“Somewhere no one will find us.”


	23. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a baaaad person

Somewhere in a distant part of his mind a drum was thudding. Vibrating the whole of his head. It probably had something to do with the fact that Cas had just pushed him through a hidden door head first into the pitch black and he had collided with something hard and unpleasant.  
"Get out of the way." Castiel growled. Shoving Dean against the wall. Yes it was a wall. Not a very smooth wall, bricks.   
His nose was so close he's pretty sure he inhaled some of the brick dust, which would explain why he was coughing. The door slammed heavily behind him, dislodging more dust. The darkness grew more intense.  
All he could hear were footsteps on the cool concrete floor and then the flip of a weighted switch and whirring of a distant generated.  
The lights flickered and then illuminated the corridor.   
Castiel was somewhere else in the complex.   
Dean inhaled deeply and decided this was the perfect time to explore. Then he brushed his shoulder on the wall and inhaled sharply. Mossy scent filling his lungs. He backed away from the wall, the smell didn't seem to become any fainter. They must be underground.  
"Dean." Came a gruff voice summoning him from a not so distant location. The walls absorbed the sound, Dean felt as if they were absorbing the air as well.  
Castiel appeared in the hallway.  
"Dean." He repeated, striding towards him and grabbing him by his good arm. Dragging him into a room along from the corridor.  
It seemed to a giant sort of living area. They went down a set of stairs but Dean couldn't remember the rest. He was focussing too much on the pain in his shoulder that had decided to make itself known in somewhat arrogant way.  
"Ah."  
"You brought it on yourself." Castiel replied swiftly leading him into some sort of medical room.   
"Sit." He stood Dean beside the bed. Brushing the dust off before he sat down.  
Castiel dove into a cupboard.  
He could run. Where were they? He could get back to the door, get out.  
And then what.  
Trace their track back through the snow covered woodland and.   
Dean shivered as Castiel began to undress him.  
"Hey! Stop."  
"Not like I haven't seen it before."  
"Stop!"  
"You want this to get infected or what?" Castiel had murder in his eyes. Dean remembered the stain on his crotch and blushed in shame.   
"Sure." He mumbled.  
"Good." The answer was clipped.  
Once Dean was almost naked on the worktop and his nipples had found a new career as mining instruments Castiel began to inspect the wound.  
"Hey! Watch it Dr Frankenstein."  
"If you don't shut up I will take you apart and sew you back together again and that is not a hollow threat. Now let me concentrate."   
Rustling on the bed beside him. Castiel was holding a sharp metal instrument. Now's the time! Where are they? Dean was frozen. Probably best to wait until he's fully functioning to take on a man with this much of an advantage over him.   
"Stay here." Castiel put down his needle.  
"Why?"  
"Just stay put." He walked over to the other side of the room to grab a bottle out of the cupboard.  
"Don't fiddle with it!" Castiel warned.  
Dean pouted like he was some disobedient teenager.  
Castiel returned to the table his thickly lined boots created dull thuds on the speckled floor.   
"Lay down. This is going to hurt."  
"What?"  
"I've got to take the bullet out and sew up the whole. I would've done it on the road but this will be far less painful for both of us. It's still going to hurt though."   
"Can't you give me something to numb it."  
"I could." Castiel replied tilting his head to one side with mock contemplation. before shoving him back onto the table and putting a large piece of rubber in his mouth.  
"SN-F-A-BITH." Dean mumbled.


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm a potato. have another cliff hanger.

When Dean awoke there was no immediate pain.  However there was a repetitive tapping noise filling the otherwise quiet room, and, now that he was actively looking for noise, the consistent buzz of an overhead light that he could feel even through his eyelids, lighting his vision red.   
Pressure unevenly across his back.  He must be laying on something.  With eyes still tightly shut he rolled over to assess the situation.  
   
Thump.  
   
He landed on the floor and sharp pain made him cry out.  
   
The tapping stopped.  
   
Footsteps.  
   
His eyes were already open, his cheek resting on a cool concrete floor.  He was so lightheaded he didn't dare move, so his view was limited to the horizon of the floor.  Grey, grey, grey... and something that was moving.  Closer.  Castiel's shoes, on Castiel's feet on...  
   
Arms under his and a low sigh as he was heaved back onto the sofa, back resting on a soft cushion, red fabric between his legs.  A soft squeak as Castiel sat beside him.  
   
He was going to be sick.  
   
"Breathe.  Just breathe."  Castiel's hand was rubbing his back.  He allowed his head to drop to his hands, elbows supported by his shaking knees.  
   
When the nausea had passed, Dean tried to look for his words.  "How long did you knock me out for?"  He pressed the edge of each of his palms into his closed eyes.  
   
"You were asleep,” came Castiel's reply.  
   
He swung his head sharply to the man beside him and snorted.  "Asleep, huh?"  
   
"Entirely of your own accord."  Castiel frowned and removed the hand.  
   
Dean pushed himself into the arm of the sofa as far away from Castiel as he could.  "Did you touch me?"  
   
"No, why would I?"  
   
"It's exactly the sick sort of thing you'd d-"   
   
Castiel slapped him.  
   
"What, am I back to silence?  Speak when your spoken to, huh?  The way I see it, I'm not your pet anymore!  As long as we're here, stuck here, we're equals!  No more cronies to catch me, huh?"  
   
Castiel glared but didn't reply.  
   
Ringing sliced through the silence that by this point had become somewhat oppressive.  
   
"Maybe you should get that?"  Dean grinned.  
   
Castiel frowned and rose from the sofa just as another wave of nausea came over Dean.  He leant back into the sofa and began to inspect his bandaged shoulder under the t-shirt.  Castiel must've dressed him in while he was asleep.  
   
"Stay there."  Castiel disappeared through a door partially obscured by a bookcase.  Books.  Once a luxury, but now in abundance.  
   
As soon as he thought Castiel was out of earshot, he began to explore.  A labyrinth of corridors.  Doors that opened to cupboards and cupboards that contained rooms.  How big was this place?  Why had Castiel brought him here?  
   
He was still barefoot and only in a t-shirt and some flannel pajama pants that had appeared from nowhere (Maybe Castiel has a wardrobe around here somewhere?), and the bunker wasn't exactly warm, with it being underground and all.  He didn't notice he was shivering until his stomach joined in on the action, announcing itself with a growl.  When was the last time he'd eaten?  
   
Luckily the next door he opened (and he was sure by this time and the amount of right turns he had been taking he must've done a full loop) was a kitchen.  
   
It was fairly simple, but unnecessarily elegant, with those fancy doors that you had to push to open. I t didn't take long for Dean to find a can of soup, and even less time for him to heat it and make it disappear.  Like Castiel.  Who must be looking for him by now.  
   
The soup wasn't awful, but Dean didn't expect much.  You couldn't keep perishables in a bunker.  That just wasn't practical.  
   
"Dean?"  Heavy footsteps announced him as he passed the open kitchen door.  Dean didn't feel like answering, so he continued looking for something else to eat, and something with which to defend himself incase Castiel had any interest in pursuing his previous activities.  Dean shuddered, the knife slipping easily into the pajama’s oversized pockets.  He returned to the cupboards, more confident now that he was armed.  
   
The rustling was noticed by Castiel, who came storming through the door.  Dean perched on the worktop to give himself height over his captor.  
   
"I told you to stay put!"  His hand rubbed over his face, phone still in hand.  
   
"I was hungry."  Dean shrugged towards the sink where his bowl, pan and various spoons sat dirty, coated in the red of his tomato flavored soup.  
   
The phone was ringing again.  How Castiel was getting service down here, he didn't know.  He swung his legs under him, grinning cheekily at Castiel.  Relishing in his new control.  
   
The finger pointed at him emphasized the next statement.  "Just stay put!" Castiel huffed exasperatedly.  
   
Dean did not just stay put.  On his second round of the loop of corridors he came across a door he hadn't noticed before.  None of the doors so far in the bunker had been locked and this one was no exception.  What was buried inside would change everything he thought he had known.  
   
At first, it only appeared to be an office.  No computer, but a stack of paper on a desk where a computer should be.  Next to the desk was a wastepaper basket, and next to that a filing cabinet.  Out of newfound curiosity, Dean edged closer.  Something about this room made him feel uneasy, and yet he couldn't look away.  
   
The first draw slid open.  Nothing unusual, just dates.  He opened one of the pouches.  They were photos, surveillance?  
   
It was him.  
   
He's fifteen years old, bought some smokes from the shop opposite the school he should be attending, smoking in full view of the teacher ignoring a violent fight on the playground.  He can still taste the tobacco.  
   
It's not a security camera shot.  Dean slid it out of its plastic wallet.  Professional photograph.    
   
There was a small park next to that shop.  He remembered it from when he was a kid.  
   
He scans through the files.  Dating back to around his fifth birthday.  He's out with his mom, a photo his dad had taken.  Happier times.  Dean runs his hand across the image.  He still missed her.  How had Castiel gotten this?  
   
There's more.  And more.  He opens the next drawer, leaving files open, not worried about concealing his discovery.  
   
"Dean!"  Castiel must've dealt with whatever was dividing his attention.  "Where the fuck are you?  I'm not in the mood to play games!"  
   
The handle of the knife felt light in his hand, the silver blade caught the light shining in from the corridor as Dean pulled it from his pocket. Sharp unused edge fraying the fabric.


	25. Chapter 24

Dean's breath was hot behind Castiel's ear.  This was not how Castiel had imagined this situation.  
 His warm lithe body pressed up behind him.  It would have been pleasurable if he wasn't so sure of Deans intentions.  
   
"Who's the little toy now?" Dean snarled.  Both of their breathing was loud in the dark room.  Light from the hallway casting strange shadows on the concrete floor.  
   
Castiel wanted to look him in the eye.  The knife pressed closer to his neck, catching on his stubble as Dean shifted.  Two bodies pressed against one another, panting in sync.  "Dean," Castiel warned softly.  
   
"Ah ah ah!"  He dragged the knife slowly across Castiel's skin, never letting it leave his neck even when the red mark began to well with blood.  "What is it you said to me?" Dean paused tauntingly.  "Ah yes..."  
   
And then suddenly Castiel moved, and everything went dark.  
   
   
When Dean woke up, a bright light was slicing through his eyelids.  
   
"I want you to be awake for this."  Castiel's voice was clear, clinical.  He had noticed Dean’s eyelids flickering.  
   
Dean went to move.  He couldn't.  Looking to his right to discover his hands strapped down.  He couldn't move his feet either.  His wriggled his toes.  He wasn't wearing socks.  It was freezing.  He was wearing a shirt, though.  No pants.  Lying on a somewhat hard padded surface.  Castiel was standing over him.  He could just see the side of his face.  "What's…?"  
   
"Hush."  Castiel loomed over him, pressing a gentle finger to his lips.  His eyes filled with a strange sadness.   
   
Rabbit heart beating against his chest.  The sound of metal on metal.  
   
"I want you to understand that what I'm about to do, you brought on yourself.  The results will not be permanent and I can do a corrective surgery."  
   
Dean felt the panic rising.  What was Castiel going to do?!  Was he going to chop his dick off?  "You sick fuck!"  Dean struggled against the leather straps.  
   
"Shut up, or so help me god, I will make this far more painful than it needs to be."  
   
Dean fell still.  "I'm sorry,” he whispered.  "Please, whatever it is you think you have to do…?"  
   
"I have no choice."  
   
"But!"  
   
"If you had just stayed!"  
   
"Ca-"  
   
"Done as you were told!"  He placed a large chunk of rubber into Deans mouth.  It tasted foul.  He felt something cold being rubbed onto the back of his ankles.  Castiel pulled the trolley towards himself and the wheels squeaked against the floor.  
   
Dean focused on the light above him, creating white spots in his vision.  The tears dribbled down his cheeks and onto the bed.  "Please!"  The rubber rumbled with his words.  
   
"I know," Castiel whispered in response.  A sharp object pressing into his foot, and then Castiel's gloved fingers rubbing it.  
   
Deans chest heaved with his choked sobs.  
   
"This is your own doing.  I didn't want to have to do this, baby,” Castiel sighed.    
   
Rubbing the spot until Dean couldn't feel it anymore.  He tried to wiggle his toes, he wasn't sure it was working.  Oh god.  Was Castiel going to cut his limbs off like he had threatened before?  Dean started to shake, his breath coming fast.  He couldn't breathe with this thing in his mouth.  
   
"Hey.  Hey!"  Quick footsteps.  Castiel was by his side again.  The rubber came out.  Dean still couldn't breathe.  He was suffocating.  Castiel tried to soothe him, petting his hair, mouth pressed to his forehead.  "Shhh baby, you're gunna be okay.  I'm going to give you something to calm you down.  Don't want you going into shock."  
   
Going into shock!!  Oh god.  He was going to amputate!  Oh god.  He was suffocating.  He'd never be able to walk again.  To run.  To escape.  
   
Trapped.  
   
Trapped.  
   
Trapped.  
   
A distant tapping on his right arm, and another sharp object penetrated his skin.  The calm washed over him in a matter of seconds.  He didn't even remember what he was worried about.  
   
Castiel kissed his forehead, and looked into Dean’s glassy eyes, glazed over with the small dose of the strong sedative he had given him.  "I'm not sorry, baby,” he mumbled into Dean’s hair.  The rubber went back in.  
   
Distantly someone pressed another needle to his foot.  He wasn't even sure it was his foot anymore.  
   
"I refuse to lose you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour my twisted readers.  
> I am a potato.  
> Love me.


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, with that super confusing jump in the middle I was hoping I could give you guys a bit of like.  
> "What?!!!?" So you could totally sympathise with Dean-o  
> And then (not waiting too long, cos if I'm honest I actually wrote both chapter's at the same time.)  
> Boom.  
> Explained.  
> Just trying a new style. Tell me if you like it (or hate it)

Dean could barely remember how he got here.  One minute he was primed, ready to take that fucker down and make him pay for what he'd did.  Dean had envisioned Castiel with his mouth wrapped around his own bloody, mutilated dick.  See how he liked that!  
   
Castiels footsteps were getting closer.  And closer.  And…  
   
His shoes ground to a stop on the concrete floor and then he turned.  Must have noticed the door that Dean had left ajar.  He stepped through.  Bad decision, master.  
   
Dean pulled Castiel back into his arms, knife touching his neck.  
   
"Who's the little toy now?" he couldn't help but snarl.  
   
He felt Castiel wriggle in his arms, and dragged the knife across his neck, warning him to stop moving.  
   
"Dean."  Castiel couldn't help himself could he?  Bastard, rapist bastard, just had to say something.  
   
"Ah ah ah!  What is it you said to me?"  
   
Dean didn't feel when something sharp stabbed him in the thigh.  Castiel distracted him by rubbing into his still healing shoulder.  
   
The knife clattered loudly to the ground as Castiel guided him towards a more comfortable position.  "It's okay.  Let go."  
Dean couldn't hear him.  
   
Castiel checked Dean's vitals, peering into his heavy lidded eyes, turned glassy green with the sedative.  Then, once he was sure Dean wasn't going to wake up (or vomit on him), he threw him over his shoulder and carried him into the medical room.  
   
He didn't want to have to do this.  He had tried everything to avoid it.  He ran his fingers over the plastic coated documents detailing the various incisions he would have to make in order to sever his Achilles tendon, rendering him totally immobilized.  
   
He didn't want to have to do this.  
   
He rose from where he was seated and walked over to check on his unwilling patient.  He had already removed most of Dean's clothing, but could not heat the room for fear it would contribute to the spread of bacteria.  "I want you to be awake for this,” he mumbled.  He wasn't going to lose his little boy from shock.  But also, this could serve as a lesson.  He wasn't an idiot.  Dean would hate him for this, but if he thought - knew - he deserved it...  
   
"What…?"  
   
"Hush."    
   
He was too riled up, straining against his bonds to see what was going on.  Castiel decided to allow him a small slither of information to soothe him.  "I want you to understand that what I'm about to do, you brought on yourself.  The results will not be permanent and I can do a corrective surgery."  He must always remember to put down the ground work for the manipulation of such a fragile mind.  
   
"You sick fuck!”  
   
Castiel wasn't expecting that.  He took a moment to collect himself and then responded with equal disgust.  "Shut up, or so help me god, I will make this far more painful than it needs to be!"  
   
He might have gone a bit too far,  Dean was quivering like a newborn lamb.  
   
"I'm sorry," Cas said softy, trying to calm his captive.  
   
"Please, whatever it is you think you have to do…?"  Dean was so desperate.  
   
"I have no choice," Castiel said firmly.  He did have a choice, he was choosing this.  
   
"But…!"  
   
"If you had just stayed!"  
   
"Ca-”  
   
Castiel ignored him.  He had learned that interrupting him was the surest way to silence him.  "Done as you were told."  It was all for his own good, really.  
   
Castiel pushed the mouth guard into Dean's mouth and walked towards the end of the bed where his needles, anesthetic, and surgical instruments were prepped.  
   
Dean would never forgive him.  
   
He'd have to.  Otherwise, Cas would never fix this.  He had to make sure no one but him could fix Dean.  Dean was his, forever.  
   
Dean tried to speak, the words getting caught in the rubber of the mouth guard.  
   
"I know."  Castiel primed the first injection.  Pressing it into the flesh near to where he would be operating.  "This is your own doing.  I didn't want to have to do this, baby."  Dean was his baby.  For sure this time.  
   
Dean's breathing was too fast.  He was having a panic attack.  Luckily, Cas had anticipated this.  "Hey, hey!"  He tried to get Dean's attention.  "Shhh, baby, you're gunna be okay.  I'm going to give you something to calm you down.  Don't want you going into shock."  Putting him onto a drip of valium.  That should keep him quiet for the duration of the surgery.  "I'm not sorry, baby,” Cas whispered.  And when he was sure Dean couldn't hear him, he added, "I refuse to lose you."  
   
The incision was quick.  Starting with his left ankle, Castiel slit a neat line along the back and severed the tendon, ensuring the two pieces would not heal naturally.  And then neatly glued the skin back together and added a line of stitches to ensure it would not tear.  He repeated the process on the other ankle.  
   
Dean was going to hate him.  
   
Oh well, he'd forgive him eventually.  He’d brought this on himself.  
   
Castiel cleaned and returned his equipment.  Then he sterilized the wounds (could never be too careful) and dressed them.  Taking this time while Dean was out to do a thorough check of his shoulder.  
   
He glanced back to Dean's mutilated ankles.  So pretty on the outside.  So broken on the inside.  Like you, Dean, he thought as he ran his hand through Dean's hair.  It was done, and only Castiel could undo it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments (and criticisms) adored.  
> Kudos also adored.
> 
> Also I'm kinda craving writing some really fucked up oneshots so if anyone has a prompt; shoot.
> 
> Finally, never-ending thanks to @funtimewriter who has my eternal gratitude!


	27. >://////

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This brought to u by iron_mage

This is Iron_Mage making a call out post @ Ill_write_it 

Says he’ll be at the bus station at 1 o’clock & to meet him there when the bus doesn’t actually get in till 1:30 

10/10 would not Cisco again


	28. Chapter 26

_Seventeen years old. First real crime. Real criminal now._

_His extended family was shocked when they found out. Gabriel wasn't. Gabe was careless, thirteen, smoking pot for the first time in the private school bathroom.  He didn't listen to his brother. He never did. Castiel didn't care. He didn't care for any of it._

_"Why do you think you did it?" The therapist had asked him. She was reasonably attractive for a woman in her late thirties, bleached blonde hair, dull blue eyes. While she talked Castiel wondered how she'd look on a slab. Would her eyes be any more lifeless?  He had expected it all to be a little more clinical. After all, he was paying for the best, if only through his “taxes.” And the court certainly thought he needed it._

_Eighteen years old. Slipped up, again. He leaned forward in his cheap white plastic chair. The orange jumpsuit pulled taught across his shoulders, a size too small, trapping his muscles. He knew he was handsome, a modern day Adonis. What made her tick?_

_He allowed his face to slip into a manic grin. "Because it was fun."_

_With every syllable, the therapist’s eyes grew wider. "What about your parents?" She coughed and then continued. No clipboard to hide behind._

_"What about them?" he had growled, allowing his mask to slip for just a second._

_She didn't come into work the next day, or the next, or the day after that. They found her five months later in the freezer of a scummy bar. Well, part of her. No one could explain how. Castiel was still on the ward at the time, or at least he was supposed to be._

_The next few suffered a similar fate._

_And then he was out._

_They could never pin anything on him. They'd never find the photos. Castiel was good at keeping secrets but even better at hiding them._

_And so he became richer, and more careful. With every year came more danger and he was more than aware. Always on the side of caution. Always prepared. He'd already fallen from grace, but he'd only charred his wings on the way down._

_Then he saw him._

_Dean Winchester._

_Dean fucking Winchester._

_Fourteen years old. Stern little smirk. Working behind a bar that he had no place to be in.  Something no fourteen year old should have between his fingers and the weight of the world on his shoulders, smoking against the wall next to the dump in the dark._

_The air had been so crisp that night._

_He could taste the tension._

_So could Dean. He had turned to him, golden light picking up the highlights in his blonde hair. He looked practically angelic. Waiting for someone to come along and tarnish his halo._

_He wasn't ready yet, but Castiel was more than happy to wait._

_It started off with a harmless collection of photos. Something about Dean soothed him from the first time he had learned his name, the first time it had passed his lips. Every photo of those grassy green eyes. The essence of them could never be captured by his camera, no matter how much he splashed out on lenses.  The nights in his room with nameless faceless hookers to sate the urge. The anticipation._

_The pile grew and so did Castiel's obsession._

_Research, hours upon hours, desperate to own every single slither of information. School photos, records, photos, security videos. His thirst for this boy was unquenchable. But he had to wait._

_Patient. Patient._

_Dean grew older, but Castiel did not lose interest. No, time could not alter the beauty. Untouchable. Castiel could fix that. Castiel would fix that._

_Soon, he promised himself. Soon._

****

When Dean woke up, the world was a blur.  Ceiling lights.  Again.  An overwhelming sense of deja vu fell over him like a thick mist.  He waited for it to clear before he tried to sit up, fingers gripping into the slippery leather of the sofa.  He felt fine.  There was no pain.  Dean scratched at the back of his head with his other hand.

 

Castiel was sitting at the table, but he wasn't typing frantically on his laptop as he had been before.  He was watching Dean.  Why was Castiel watching him?  Dean looked over his body.  He was dressed.  His shoulder was still aching a little, but nowhere near as much as it had been.  Thanks to Dr. Novak over there, his arm was in working order.  He drummed his fingers on the side of the sofa.

 

Castiel hadn't moved.  They made eye contact.  Dean broke it first, his gaze coming back to his current situation.  Why hadn't he moved?  What was he waiting for?

 

Dean was sitting up now.  His mouth was dry, no water on the side table.  He knew where the kitchen was.

 

"You're awake."  Castiel nodded.

 

"I'm awake." Repeating the obvious.  Why was Castiel so uneasy?

 

He should get that drink now.  The tension in the room was making the air uncomfortably thick.  Dean pulled at the neck of his shirt, suddenly feeling far too warm.  He should go get that drink.

Two feet on the floor, resting lightly against the concrete.  He didn't look... until he was forced to by his ankles giving out and his body crashing to the floor.

 

Castiel's chair groaned as it was moved, and Castiel rushed towards him.

 

Dean couldn’t think.  He couldn’t think.  What was happening?  What… what was happening?

 

Desperate green eyes caught Casiel's blue and a weak whisper sliced through the tension and all of Dean's resolve.  "What...  What did you do?"  He choked on his words.

 

Castiel rubbed his hand on Dean's back as he lifted him back onto the sofa.

 

"Wha- what... what did you do?" Dean stuttered, his jaw shaking.  He stared at his feet and then at Castiel's somber expression, then at his feet again.  He could move his toes.  He couldn't move his ankle.  He just couldn't.  He lifted his shin and it flagged behind.  "What have you done?" Dean roared, pushing Castiel away from him.

 

"You gave me no choice," Castiel replied sternly.

 

"Wh-what have you done to me?"  Dean was sobbing, his hands still clasped in Castiel's shirt.  "What have you done to me?"  Quieter now, subdued.

 

"You didn't listen.  What other option did I have?"

 

Dean was silent, moving his leg and watching his foot flop behind.  "Will you fix me?  If I'm good, will you fix me?  Please Master!  Fix me!" Dean whimpered as Castiel returned to the desk and resumed what he was doing before Dean had woken up.

 

Pen in hand, he was writing a list.  "I'm going to order supplies.  Is there anything you would like?"

 

Dean couldn't reply.  He was still trying to wrap his head around what exactly had transpired.  He didn't think Castiel would do it!   _At least he hasn't chopped your legs off,_ his brain helpfully supplied.  Dean shivered.  He could have.  Easily.  "Master, please..."

 

"Silence."

 

"Please, I'll be so good!  Please!"

 

Dean's desperate cries fell on deaf ears.  Castiel strode across the room, ignoring Dean's whimpers as he passed him.

 

"Where are you going?"  Dean knew he sounded needy.  He didn't care.

 

"Out," came Castiel's sharp reply.

 

Maybe he felt guilty?  More likely, Dean had just made him mad.  Dean curled into a ball in the corner of the sofa and wondered if he's ever be able to walk again.  Stupid!  Stupid!  Stupid!  Why did he have to run?  Why did he always have to fight back?  If he'd just done as he was told, none of this would've happened!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many Thanks to my wonderful beta @funtimewriter.


	29. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My god, my beta is amazing motivation.

For the next few days Dean became somewhat subdued.

 

At first, he had adamantly refused help, preferring to drag himself across the floor or attempt to walk on his knees.  Castiel had just watched with mild amusement while Dean cursed his name upon encountering the stairs.  Castiel could leave the front door wide open and Dean still wouldn't be able to leave. After that, despite resenting the help, he allowed Castiel to carry him where he wanted and assist him in getting onto chairs. He was completely reliant on Castiel for survival.

 

Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to survive anymore. What use would he be to Sammy like this?  He could barely remember them, his family.  Every memory was Castiel.  Everyone was Castiel.  Castiel was the only other person. There was only Castiel.

 

But the real turning point, the moment Dean realized his place by his Master's side wasn't until he truly lost his sense of identity.

 

"Now, there should be a lever, right about..."

 

An ominous cranking noise, and light flooded into the bunker.  Then it was dark again.

 

"Fucking snow!" Castiel groaned, running his hand over his freshly shaven face.  He’d offered to shave Dean as well, but Dean had insisted that he was “not disabled and could do it him-fucking-self.”  Dean was sitting on the sofa, as usual.  Staring at the pile of snow that had fallen onto the giant skylight Castiel had been trying to uncover.

 

Castiel's booted feet sounded on the metal staircase.  Then came the sound of him opening the door.  But he didn't shut it.  Why would he need to?  Dean hadn't eaten in two days.  He couldn't even walk from the sofa to the table.  He couldn't even stand up.  He stared forlornly at the staircase.  Three days ago, that would be no problem.  He'd be out of this hellhole in no time and on the next bus home.

 

He'd have to navigate the snow first.  Or die of the cold.  Suddenly, frostbite didn't seem such a bad way to go.  If only he could get himself up the stairs!

 

Dropping himself down onto the floor, Dean started crawling to the staircase, feet dragging behind him as he was unable to hold them fully out of the way.  Now stairs, that would be a challenge.  One step at a time, he conquered his mountain.  Waiting for Castiel to appear and dampen his triumph at any moment.  If he turned around, he could see the snow being slowly removed from the skylight, shovelful at a time.  Castiel, wrapped in his warm snow gear, now that the full force of the snow had settled.  Dean gritted his teeth, determined on his icy death. Anything to get away from this.  Anything.

 

_Sammy!_

 

No, he couldn't.  He was worthless now.  Utterly worthless.

 

_Worthless._

 

Another step.

 

_Useless._

 

Another step.

 

_Meaningless._

 

Another.

 

_Waste of space._

 

He was at the top.  He couldn't believe it.  His eyes widened, part in fear and part in sheer disbelief.  He could feel the crisp cold air slithering through the partly opened door.  So close.

 All he had to do was open it.  And he'd be free to die.

 

He closed his eyes and pushed the door open, the full force of the air hitting him, instantly chilling him and making him shiver.  Fresh snow crunched under his palms.  He was so close to the woods.  They'd provide the perfect cover.  Fitting place to die.

 

He’d died a while ago.  Castiel killed him the moment he’d touched him.

 

He was no longer able to fight the shivering in just his flannel sweatpants and thin cotton t-shirt.  He darted into the dark shrubbery as fast as he could.  How long does it take for the cold to kill you? he wondered as he passed the first set of trees.

 

He'd made it barely two hundred yards from the bunker door when Castiel found him.  "For fuck’s sake!" Arms under his.

 

"Just let me die!" Dean screamed.  He tried to fight as best as he could.  Once he realized there was no way he could possibly win, he fell onto his back and tried to smother himself with snow.

 

"Stop!  Just stop, Dean! Stop!"

 

Castiel pulling him up off of the ground.  He felt all of his fight melt with the snow.  "Just…!”

 

"Shh."  Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled, burying his face into Dean's neck as Dean sobbed against him.

 

"Please.  Please!  I know this is all my fault but please, Master, please!"

 

Castiel softened at the use of the title, relaxing his tight grip on Dean.  He carried him back into the bunker, down the stairs and right back to the sofa.

 

And the begging started again.  "Please!  Please!"  Clawing at Castiel's shirt, once he had removed his snow jacket.  And then desperately climbing into his lap and peppering his face with kisses.  "I'll be so good, sir.  I'll be so good!  Please!"  He lightly kissed Castiel again.

 

"You've made your bed," Castiel replied sadly.  He hated having to punish his baby like this.  "You gave me no choice."  He rubbed his hand on Dean's lower back.

 

"I'll be so good for you!" Dean implored, eyes wet with tears.

 

"I know, baby." Castiel wiped his thumb on Dean's cheek to dissolve the tear tracks.

 

"Please," Dean whispered, curling up in Castiel's lap.

 

"Enough now," Castiel said softly.

 

"I'll do anything!"

 

"I said enough," Castiel said more sternly, pausing before kissing the top of Dean's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, shoutout to my AMAZING beta @funtimewriter


	30. Chapter 30

The bacon was hissing in its pan and for a moment the stony silence felt more domestic.  Dean shrugged it off, but the feeling wouldn't seem to dislodge.  His ass was still sore from the day before.  At least now he was feeling far more settled with his status.  He belonged to his master.  His master was only taking care of him.  Dean reminded himself of that on the hour, every hour.    
   
It wouldn't do to forget how he got himself into this mess, when Castiel had carried him back in from the snow.  
   
   
"Enough."  A firm kiss pressed to the top of his head, and then his Master had carried him into the bedroom which he usually slept in.  Dean had been sleeping mostly on the sofa, spending most of his time staring at walls or reading the large collection of books Castiel had stocked in the library from which he worked.  On a few occasions, Castiel had carried him to his own bed and he had waited, icy cold, on the other side of the bed until Castiel had finally fallen asleep.  Castiel would find Dean where he found him every morning when he'd woken from a fretful sleep, curled on his sofa, staring at the wall.   
   
When they'd reached the bedroom, Dean didn't know what to expect.  Castiel had sat down, allowing Dean to sit on his lap momentarily before maneuvering him so that his ass was facing Cas and his legs dangled down beside him.  He had resisted a little at first to this new position, but his Master's firm hand rubbing soothing circles on his lower back calmed him.  Whatever Castiel was going to do to him, he probably deserved.  And so, with a deep sigh, Dean relaxed.   
   
Castiel's hand drifted down to his ass and Dean tensed.  "Why do you think I'm going to spank you?"   
Dean felt his chest constrict with embarrassment.  Spank him?  
   
A sharp smack to his clothed right buttock caught his attention.  "Dean.  I'd prefer a vocal answer."  
   
"Sir," Dean replied meekly.  
   
"Sir?"  Cas chuckled. "Oh, it's 'Sir' now, is it?" he muttered.   
   
"I'm sorry."  He refused to start crying again, despite the lightness of Cas's tone he still felt as if his Master's intentions were dark.  "You're spanking me because…"  A sharp intake of breath, he tried to dislodge the stone in his chest.  "I went outside."  
   
"And...?" Castiel prompted.  
   
"I was disobedient.  You said..."  Cas hadn't said anything about leaving the bunker?  "You said I had to stay with you.  You said I had to behave.  And, I haven't been," he continued awkwardly, "behaving."  
   
"Yes."  Castiel's palm rested on the same spot but it didn't hurt, the first slap had felt only of the clap of skin against skin.  Not as harsh as he had thought it would be.  That was when Castiel had shifted and his warm hands had drifted onto the waistband of Dean's sweatpants.  He wasn't wearing any underwear.  Cas eased them down so they were slung around his knees, which were resting on the soft bed alongside the rest of his body which Castiel had turned.  He could see the carpeted floor and Cas's boots, but his shoulders were on the bed.  The lower half of his torso and his upper thighs were on Cas's knees, dick now pressing onto the denim.  Dean shifted uncomfortably.  
   
Castiel tapped his fingers over Dean's freckled ass.  
   
He breathed moments before the impact of the first real smack.  He gasped in shock, but there was no real pain, just a soft clap of hand on flesh again.  Dean felt his handprint on his bum as he raised and dropped his palm again on the same spot.  This happened a few more times, the weight in the slap increasing each time until a sting ran through his butt cheek.  At that point, he twitched and hissed, his arms reaching back to protect his red behind.  Castiel held them together at the wrist and pressed them onto Dean's back.  Then he swapped across to the other cheek and repeated the process using his free hand.  
   
Dean felt his whole body growing warmer with the shame of what was transpiring.  What he was letting transpire.  He didn't really have a choice, he knew that.  And his cheeks were definitely warm, approaching hot.  Castiel wasn’t being as gentle now.  All his thwacks hit with the same intensity, and by the time he took the fifth in a row to the same exact spot, he whimpered from the intense sting of the impacts.  Then Ca moved over to the other buttock again to create the same feeling.  It was strange, but as the number of blows increased, the sting seemed to mellow into a constant glow.  Dean felt himself start to panic.  He wasn't getting off on this... was he?  But as they got harder, they ceased to be as pleasurable and Dean's panic lessened.   
   
Dean tensed, waiting for the next flash of warmth and pain, but nothing came.  Maybe it was finally over?  
   
"Why am I doing this, Dean?" Castiel asked, hand resting lightly on Dean's sensitive cheek.   
   
"I...  I 've been bad."  
   
"Yes, Dean.  You know what I want you to say.  Why don't you say it?"   
   
 _I've been a bad boy_ , Dean thought.  Dean stayed silent for a few more seconds, mortified with this entire situation, although it wasn't like Cas hadn't done worse before.  His master hadn't done worse before, he corrected internally.  Embarrassment making him blush all the way down his chest and bury his head into the duvet.   
   
"As you wish," Castiel stated and continued the punishment.  "With every slap, I want you to say why you're here."  
   
But...!  Dean daren't object.  
   
"Dean?  I'm waiting."  
   
"I was bad.  I am bad."  Dean tried all the variations aside from the one he could not even force out of his mouth.  Finally, he caved.  His ass must be bruised by now, surely?  "I've been a bad boy!"  
   
Castiel stopped.  "Finally."  Castiel pulled him back onto his lap and tucked Dean's legs behind his back so they were face to face.  "My hand was getting sore,” his master smirked, a finger under Dean's chin to pull his eyes upwards.   
   
Dean couldn't look him in the eye, instead focusing on his lips.  And what nice lips they were, plush and pink.  How hadn't he noticed this before?  Castiel smirked again.  Dean saw his skin crease at the edges of his mouth.  "Pining for a kiss, are we, princess?"  Castiel obliged, mistaking his embarrassment for reaffirming, pressing his lips against Dean in a chaste kiss.   
   
"Look at me."  Castiel's voice deepened when he whispered.  Their lips merely an inch apart.   
   
Dean's wet green eyes met Cas' ocean blue.  "I'm sorry.  I've been a bad boy," Dean whispered in reply.  He wanted to kiss those lips again.  So soft, it had been so innocent.  "Thank you for my punishment, Master."  
   
Castiel's face lit up in a genuine smile.  "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"   
   
Dean shook his head, infantile in his actions.  Castiel was his world now.   
   
 _All you have to do is please him and he'll fix you.  He'll fix you and then you can save Sam!_  
   
Did Sam need saving?  Dean pushed those thoughts out of his head and focused on bumping his lips against Castiel's again.  
   
"Such a good boy for me," Castiel growled against his lips, swiveling him around and pushing him onto the bed.  Castiel hovered above him.  Just kissing him, a hand in his hair.  The other holding Dean's wrists together above Dean's head.  "My good boy!"  Castiel peppered kisses across his throat and collar bones.   
   
   
The bacon was placed in front of him, atop a stack of pancakes.  Castiel's grin accompanied by the light from the setting sun would have looked idyllic to anyone with no knowledge of the real situation.  Dean's stomach growled.   
   
"Eat," Castiel prompted, pushing the pancakes towards him.  "Eat!"  He raised an eyebrow as he said the word more forcefully.  
   
All of a sudden, the food looked like cardboard.  Dean swallowed in the hope of making his dry mouth moister.  
   
"Dean, you haven't eaten since...  Well, you haven't eaten in a while.  You're going to eat this.  We can do it the hard way, or the easy way."  
   
Dean reached for his fork and licked his lips.  "Thank you, Master."  He managed to say through his mouthful of pancake.  It just tasted of nothing.  He wasn't sure if it was Cas's cooking, or his taste buds.  It was probably him.  He was always the problem.  Why did he always have to have it the hard way?  Why must he always be so bad for his Master?  
   
"Good boy," Castiel said, taking the seat opposite him and watching him like a hawk.  
   
Dean smiled in reassurance.  "These are great!"  
   
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Cas smirked, pouring syrup on his own pancakes.   
   
Dean glanced at the clock mounted in the kitchen.  Pancakes for dinner?  A little unorthodox, but then again what about this entire situation was even remotely orthodox?  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send some love to @funtimewriter my amazing beta!!


	31. Chapter 31

Dean had tried so hard not to beg. He didn't beg his master because he knew Castiel wouldn't cave. He liked him like this. He must like him like this. But that didn't mean he didn't find it hard not to fight. That he didn't find it hard not to beg, not to grovel at the feet of his master. Not to claw desperately at Castiel's chest when he fucked him, to scream “Get off of me!” at the top of his lungs. But some days, he couldn’t help it.  
Some days he didn't know what he was fighting for. Some days he did. Today was one of those days.  
"Stop fighting me," Castiel growled. He had woken up to a still-naked Dean trying to bash his head in with the unplugged lampshade poised above his head, waiting for the next strike. He’d wrestled it off of him only to have Dean try to smash his head into the wall above the headboard. "Stop.”  
Castiel caught Dean's wrist and pressed it so hard against the wall he was sure it would bruise, if not crumble completely. Dean whimpered and tried to shuffle his hips to get himself away from Castiel.  
He pried Castiel's hand from his wrist. Then he threw his body weight with an almighty thud onto the carpeted floor.  
Castiel laughed manically. "Think you're fucking going somewhere, do you?" He rose from the bed and opened the wardrobe, grabbing a loose shirt and some sweatpants and then putting them on with calm precision. He stretched his arm and checked his head for blood. Then he strolled towards the open doorway and into the hall. Dean was crawling along the floor, desperately trying to make his escape. Where to? “There's no where you can run, princess!" Castiel walked briskly forward until he was by Dean's side. Then he crouched down and condescendingly whispered, "Oh! You wanna play a game? Make it to the end of the hall, and you'll get a prize!”  
Dean gritted his teeth and narrowed his gaze.  
Castiel opened a cupboard door on the left and grabbed something, dragging it out on the concrete. "Road block!" Castiel cried playfully

and threw the wooden chair in the way, sitting down on it and spreading his legs. "Looks like you can't go this way."  
What was he talking about? The hallway was more than wide enough. Dean tried to scramble past, but Castiel's firm hand on his bicep pushed  
him back before the barrier he had created. Dean tried again, and Castiel's response was the same. The next time, Dean threw his whole body into the chair in an attempt to tip it over.  
For a moment it was so obvious that Castiel was furious. But then he hid behind his mask again. "You've broken the rules." He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips in mock annoyance. Then the grin broke free again. He pounced on Dean, dragging him between his legs and sitting on him.  
Dean's fawn-like eyes were wide with fear. He was frozen, one arm in Castiel's grip and his waist trapped by Castiel's thighs.  
"Oh baby," Cas whispered. "I thought you wanted to play!”  
Dean couldn't move. His breath came in panicked gasps. Run. Run. Run. You have to get away. Get away. Run!  
Castiel's finger tipped Dean's head up and then dragged along his adam's apple. "Blow me. Or run,” he whispered. Suddenly the tightness around Dean' s chest and waist was gone. Castiel dropped Dean's arm.  
RUN!  
Dean bolted, travelling as fast as he could on his hands and knees up the corridor. He had to hide. He had to hide.  
"Oh, this is fun! I haven't had this much fun in ages!" came Castiel's voice in the distance, accompanied by the sound of his boots on the floor. He 'd put on his boots. Why had he put on his boots? "You're making me reconsider my plan to make you an amputee, princess. This is just fucking priceless!”  
Dean shuddered, trying desperately to get away. He had to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having a hard time atm. :C  
> Thanks to my wonderful Beta!


End file.
